Black Star
by CellarGangGirl
Summary: In an alternate reality where Boston-born Violet Harmon transfers to Westfield and meets loner boy Tate Langdon in 1994, their junior year, it's pretty obvious that things will work out different. But just how different will things be?
1. Enter Violet

AN: Ooh boy, my first AHS story, and I'm tackling a complete AU for the first time. I never knew how hard it was to keep the character you love when you change half of their life. Jeez.

Well, we're starting off here with Tate, who may be a _little_ more into literature than they overtly state in the show, but I'm sure that doesn't bother anyone here - if only all guys were... ANYWAY! I'll quit my rambling and let you enjoy!

Disclaimer: In no way do I have the mental capacity to create and own American Horror Story. I just make a habit of writing about characters who don't belong to me.

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><p><strong>Tate POV<strong>

Tate was tucked away in the darkest corner of the library, sitting Indian-style in the plush chair while his eyes skimmed his well-worn copy of 'The Complete Poetry of Edgar Allan Poe'.

He liked it back here because it felt like he disappeared from the world. He could bury himself in poetry or birds or classics, whatever he so pleased, and he could even almost forget about all the fucking idiots and slutty bitches who occupied the school with him. No one came to this section; it was all beat up textbooks, or books they didn't use in classes anymore. Everyone had their own books in this school. So he curled up here every day for study hall straight through lunch and tried to forget about everything. It was the only reprieve he had from his fantasies - daydreams about killing his goddamn stupid classmates or himself. There wasn't a single person in this godforsaken place that he liked.

"Hey. I need a book for History." The voice wafted back through the stacks; he presumed she was talking to the librarian. Her voice was sort of scratchy even though she was speaking loudly. _'Smoker,'_ he thought. He sighed. If she needed a book for class, she'd be invading his peace soon enough. There were some mumbled words from the old lady who must've worked in the library forever, then the shuffling of fabric as the girl drew nearer to him.

To say he was surprised when he saw her was an understatement. He wasn't the only person at Westfield who didn't quite fit in, but she took it to a new level. She must've been new, because he would have remembered seeing her.

Her hair was long and dirty blonde - it hung freely, falling into her face. She had big eyes, he noticed. He could tell she was slim, even through her baggy Nirvana t-shirt and slightly oversized jeans. The Chucks she sported told him she didn't give a fuck about the impression she made here - none of the girls would like her, at least. Over it all, she wore a huge cardigan that almost went to her knees, though it was caught under the strap of her beaten backpack. The 'don't fuck with me' attitude she oozed went well with her haphazard outfit.

She stared back at him as he took her in for a few seconds before turning to the row of textbooks and searching for her History text. He watched her for a few more seconds before turning back to his Poe, assuming she'd leave once she got what she came for. He jumped a little in a few moments when the textbook slammed onto the table he was sitting at. She shrugged her backpack into one chair on the other side of the table and flopped into the seat across from him, bringing a knee up to her chest and brushing her hair out of her face. She pulled out a paper from her pocket and started flipping through the textbook before he said anything.

"Skipping on your first day?' He asked. Her eyes flicked up to him and she stared for a few seconds before acknowledging the question.

"Catching up. Henderson told me to read in here since they're having a test today." She explained in her raspy voice. He nodded.

"You?" She questioned back.

"Study hall. Then lunch. I'm here for a while." He answered. She probably didn't really care, it was just a courtesy response.

"What class are you reading Poe in? My favorites are 'The Sleeper' and 'Annabel Lee'." She surprised him. He didn't know anyone else here who really cared about poetry, let alone anything he was into. 'The Sleeper' was one of his favorites, too.

"It's not for a class. All my work's done though, so I thought I'd just read some. I like Poe. He's kind of uplifting to people who're already depressed." He told her, letting the book set on the table. It was so beaten that it stayed open to the page. She raised a crisp eyebrow at it.

"Beaten copy. Shitty home life or something?" She asked, apparently not caring about her History reading. Her big brown eyes pierced straight into his, as if daring him to lie to her.

"Isn't everyone's? My mom's so fucking messed up, I doubt she'd notice if I didn't come home tonight. Dad left with a maid when I was a kid, my brother died last year, and mom's new cock has to be the stupidest fuck I've ever met." He trailed off, not sure why he was telling her this. She was officially the only person at this school he'd had an actual friendly conversation with that didn't have to do with a class project or track. She huffed.

"Fucked up shit. My dad cheated on my mom after she had this brutal miscarriage almost a year ago, so we came all the way here from Boston." She reciprocated, rolling her eyes. She leaned back in the chair, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Guess we both have shitty lives then. So where do you live? I thought everything was taken in the area." He questioned, running through houses in his head. He supposed that she might live in one of those ridiculously expensive homes in the Cliffs, but it didn't seem like it.

"Some house built in the 20's. Fucking huge. There's like, five bedrooms and three bathrooms or something." She said somewhat passively. He stared as his mind connected the dots.

"Murder House." She gave him an incredulous look.

"No, that's seriously what they call it. I guess the first owners died in there, some crazy murder-suicide thing. The last owners too, same way." He explained. His mom was always talking about how that house gave her the creeps. He thought it was just because the maid his dad had run off with had worked there, though.

"Cool." She gave a little smile. She definitely wouldn't fit in here. The people here were all into Mariah Carey and Madonna and getting expensive cars for their birthdays. This girl - he suddenly realized he didn't know her name - wouldn't fit with that crowd, he could tell from the moment he met her.

"I'm Tate. Pretty bitching that you're down with people dying in your house." He offered by way of getting her name.

"It was theirs before it was mine, so whatever. I'm Violet. Are all the teachers this shitty? They act like I didn't learn anything in Boston." She questioned, slapping her textbook shut.

"Not all of them. Most of them grew up in Cali though, and they think they're just the shit, like everyone else here. Who do you have the rest of the day?" She pulled out another folded piece of paper and opened it up, sliding it across the table to him. Her hands dug into her backpack as he inspected the schedule. They had two classes together, not including lunch. He tried not to get his hopes up. Sure, she was cool so far, but that didn't mean she'd stay that way, or that she'd want to hang out in the library at lunch.

"Well, Lindon's kind of a dick sometimes, so it's possible you'll be in here again for French. But Mrs. Klein's pretty cool and we just started reading The Odyssey, so you'll be fine in English. And forget about Hare - if you're not in a sport, he won't even notice if you participate or not, as long as you're there for roll. We've got English and Gym together." He said, sliding back the paper. She was pulling a Game Boy out of her bag and smiled at him as she flicked it on.

"Cool. I just finished reading The Odyssey in Boston. So, can I expect to sit in the bleachers with you for Gym? Do you guys do that here?" She questioned, her eyes on the screen as the sounds of Tetris started. He winced a little.

"Yeah, they do that here." No use beating around the bush, he guessed. "But I'm in track, so..." She hummed in response, nodding without looking up from her game. They faded into mutual silence, and he picked up his poetry again, reading to the sound of her whooping Tetris' ass.

The lunch bell caught him off guard when it rang. He looked up to find that Violet had put the game away and was reading something. She looked up at him.

"Are there camera's in here?" She suddenly asked. _'What?'_ He stared at her blankly for what felt like forever while he processed the question.

"No." He finally said, and it felt highly inadequate. Why the hell did she want to know?

"Cool. Got a light?" She pulled out a cigarette from a pocket in her bag. He rolled his eyes at his own stupidity before unfolding his legs and popping open the window that was next to them. He fished out a lighter from his pocket and lit the cigarette for her. Wasting no time, she took a deep drag off of it and held it for a few seconds before sighing it out blissfully. She ran a hand through her hair as she watched the smoke float over to the window, where it was sucked out with the light breeze. He stuffed the lighter back in his pocket and sat back down. He was just reaching for his book again when she held out the fag to him.

"You straight edge or something?" She questioned when he only stared at it. He rolled his eyes and took it from her, sucking in a few short breaths. He handed it back to her and blew the smoke toward the window. He wasn't straight edge, but he didn't do drugs that often - he didn't have any money. He watched her blow circles until the stick was gone, then tossed it out a hole in the window screen.

"No lunch to go with that nicotine?" He questioned as he sat back down. She shook her head as she dug through the same pocket in her bag. She produced a water and some label-less blue spray bottle. He realized it was perfume as she spritzed herself before tossing it back in. A surprisingly girly smell wafted over to him as the smoke scent went out the window.

"Not hungry." She replied before taking a swig from the water bottle and tossing it back in the bag, too. He nodded.

"Just as well. You'd think since they have so much money, the school would have decent lunches, but it's all swill." He advised. Her only reply was a chuckle before she went back to reading, and he did the same. He started packing up for the bell soon enough and she followed suit.

"So, where's the French room?" She questioned him as she checked out the textbook. He smiled at her somewhat involuntarily and held the library door open for her. She passed him into the crowded hallway.

"I'll show you, it's on my way to Math." He said, shouldering his way through the crowds of people who always had to gather in the damn halls. He turned a corner into a less congested hall and stopped at the door to Lindon's room, all the way at the end.

"English is right up the stairs." He advised before heading into the aforementioned stairwell.

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><p>Math was boring. That was nothing new though; he'd never been in an interesting math class. He paired up with Harper, a guy from track, for a class project and proceeded to spend the hour passively paying attention. For the first time, he was distracted by something other than fantasies of shooting up the place.<p>

_Violet_. He wondered how French was going. He wondered if she really wanted to learn French, or if it was just to fill her foreign language requirement. He wondered what her favorite Nirvana song was. He wondered if she'd had friends back in Boston. He wondered so much about her, in fact, that he was surprised - again - when the bell rang. He shoved his textbook and folder into his bag, bringing out The Odyssey.

Tate was usually the first person to English because he was just down the hall. Normally, he had about three minutes to get settled before anyone else came in - they all liked to cut it as close to the bell as they could. Today, though, he heard voices as he approached the open door.

"...takes longer for new students to find the class." Mrs. Klein's friendly voice wafted into the hall.

"Tate told me where it was. I have French right before this." Violet's voice replied.

"Tate? How kind of him. He doesn't usually talk to new people, a bit antisocial. Extra credit, I think." Mrs. Klein seemed surprised. He could feel the heat rise in his cheeks a little. He didn't need extra credit for speaking to someone. He wasn't about to complain, though.

The conversation ended as he strode through the doorway. Mrs. Klein smiled pleasantly at him and he made his way to the back of the room. There was a pause as he settled down and he looked up to see Violet standing somewhat awkwardly at the front of the room, fingering her backpack strap.

"Where do I sit?" She finally asked, outwardly showing no signs of discomfort. Mrs. Klein looked up and smiled at her.

"Oh, wherever you want. They aren't assigned." Violet nodded and made her way back to the desk next to him. She pulled out a notebook and pencil before shoving her backpack under the seat and flopping down into it. He noticed a bruise on her jaw when she pulled her hair back into a ponytail, and he didn't think it'd been there before. He glanced forward and saw that Mrs. Klein was busy writing on the board before turning to Violet.

"Hey. What happened?" He gestured to his jaw. She rolled her eyes.

"Some bitch in the hallway. I looked at her wrong or something. Doesn't matter." People started filling into the classroom after that, and she was quiet.

English went by much quicker than Math had. Most of the questions were bland things, nothing much deeper than who went where and why did they go there. Most of the students who answered earned muted scoffs from Violet, though she never once raised her hand. She didn't even open her notebook. He assumed she must own the book, because she didn't ask for one. She fiddled with the sleeve of her cardigan until the class dissolved into raucous laughter and annoying voices retelling the latest gossip. They packed up their things when the bell rang and headed to the Gymnasium together. Violet finally spoke as they were nearing the doors.

"So, do I have to change for this or something?" She questioned. He looked over at her, slightly shocked at the end of the silence.

"Only if you have your own clothes. You're not allowed to participate without them, so you're off the hook for today anyways." They shuffled through the open doors and he edged away from her.

"Girls' locker room, guys' locker room," he pointed to the respective doors, "and y'know, just sit and chill." He gave a little smile and turned to walk away before he embarrassed himself.

When he returned from the locker room, feeling awkward in his running shorts and t-shirt, he started running his laps. Mr. Hare was standing next to Violet, who was sitting all the way at the top of the bleachers. He thought he saw her eyes dart to him as the Gym teacher headed back down to the floor, but he turned his head away too fast to be sure.

He ran laps the whole hour, gradually picking up speed. He was thankful for Mr. Hare's passivity - everyone did what they wanted in Gym. Thankfully, no one ever approached him, as running wasn't the most social sport. He did have the strange feeling that he was being watched, but he shrugged it off. Hare blew the whistle to stop and change and he nearly tripped over his own feet as he slowed way down. He was so out of it today. He shook his head and went off to strip out of the sweaty Gym clothes.

Clothed once again in his jeans and black shirt, he headed out to join Violet in the bleachers. Immediately as he entered the Gym, he noticed the three jocks standing on the floor below Violet. They were laughing boisterously and jostling each other around. Brickerman, the obvious leader of the group, was smirking cockily. Tate felt his lips twitch into a sneer.

"So pretty thing, why don't you join us? I'm sure we could make it worth your while." The beefy football player called suggestively up to Violet, who, to her credit, seemed to be doing an impressive job of ignoring the crude suggestions. Tate could feel the irritation swelling in him as he drew closer to them. Violet's eyes met his as he pulled up to the bottom of the bleachers about a foot away from Brickerman and his lackeys. She shrugged into her backpack and stomped down the stairs wordlessly, circling around the boys, who stood watching her dumbly. He smirked at their surprise that any girl wouldn't be interested in them and followed after her.

The bell signaling the end of the day rang as she forced the door open and headed for the freedom that the doors at the end of the hall offered. Suddenly, he wondered how she'd gotten to school. She seemed too small to drive, if he was being perfectly honest. She looked like she was fourteen.

"Did you walk?" She glanced at him and only nodded.

"I can drop you off, if you want. You're on my way home anyway." He offered. If there was one thing he'd learned from his mother - through years of abuse more than anything - it was to be courteous. He'd never felt the need to before, and he didn't know what was different now, but he decided that there'd be time to think about that later. Violet was giving him a considering look.

"Thanks." She said as they exited the front doors and made their way down the stairs in the California sun. He gestured to the left of the parking lot, where he always parked. She followed him to the car, which had certainly seen better days. It got him where he needed to go without being around his mother any longer than necessary though, so he was glad for it. He took out his keys as they pulled up to it. He looked across the top at her.

"You're gonna have to jiggle the handle." He said as he pushed his own door in with his hip and pulled the handle. It popped open as he slipped in, tossing his bag into the wide backseat as Violet finally popped her own door open with a snort. He couldn't tell if she was laughing at him or just found the situation amusing, so he slammed his door shut and started the car up.

"Why is it already in first gear?" She questioned as she tugged her seatbelt, trying to get enough of it out to wrap around her.

"Parking break's broken." He said as he cast a quick glance behind him and shifted into reverse before letting off the clutch and swinging out of the parking spot. They headed away from the school and down the streets leading to her house at a much higher speed than was marked, following some deft moves of his hands and feet. He rolled into her driveway in no time.

"Thank God dad's got a patient." She nodded to the car in the driveway. "He'd probably have a heart attack if he saw that driving." She gave him a smile that told him without a doubt that she was joking and unlatched her seatbelt.

"I can pick you up tomorrow, if you want." He offered. He really didn't know why he was being so damn nice, but she smiled nonetheless.

"Sure. What time?" She questioned.

"7:30 good?" He returned and she nodded, slamming the door shut. She mouthed a 'thanks' before turning to head up to the house. He took a moment to stare up at the huge relic before rolling out the drive and heading home, pondering just what it was about Violet that made him want to be so nice and helpful. He spent the entire night baffled by it.

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><p>AN: Good lord. I can't believe I'm actually writing something partially from Tate's point of view. I don't think I've captured it quite yet, but hopefully it'll get better as I go. The car was actually based off my own car, for all of you who don't care. It so broken, with its windows that don't roll down and funky doors and useless parking brake, but I just love it so. Sorry to everyone that has no clue how a manual works, but I just felt like it was right for Tate.<p>

Next chapter is Violet's POV, and we'll get to see just what she thinks of Tate. YAY! Remember to click the little button to review!


	2. First Day

AN: Ooo, Violet. I hope you're all dying to get into her head and see just what she thinks of our Tate.

Disclaimer: I'm still not skilled enough to own AHS.

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><p><strong>Violet POV<strong>

First days, as a general rule, sucked ass, and this one was no different. It was only the second out of five long classes, and she already hated Westfield and all the people it contained. She'd gotten weird looks from at least fifty girls within the first thirty seconds of the day, her Math teacher acted like she didn't understand basic multiplication and made her take a quiz to 'test her knowledge', and she'd been in the History room for one whole minute before Henderson sent her away to the library for the hour with a list of chapters she needed to read.

The white-haired old lady at the checkout desk pointed her to the back of the library, and she slowly wound her way back through stacks of fiction, non-fiction, literary classics, and poetry. She was sort of amazed by it - the collection of books at her school in Boston could've fit into a closet, and this place was huge. As she turned the last corner, she came across an unexpected surprise. She hadn't expected to find anyone all the way back here, she thought they'd all gathered in the main seating under the close watch of the librarian.

The boy was pretty damn cute, in her eyes. He was folded up into a plush chair, curled around what looked to be a book of Poe's poetry. Any boy who read poetry gained automatic points, even though this one definitely didn't need them. His hair was slightly lighter than hers, his roots just dark enough for her to wonder if the blonde was natural or bottled. It hung in shaggy curls that just brushed his eyes, which were the darkest brown she'd ever seen - they were almost black. He was pretty pale for a California kid, although his dark jeans and long sleeved black shirt sort of hinted that he wasn't the typical blonde bimbo. She thought she saw Chucks peeking from under his crossed legs, and there was a ring that looked like snakes wrapped around one of his thumbs, cementing the idea.

Deciding that she'd been staring far too long, she turned abruptly to the stack beside her to search for her textbook. It didn't take her long, and she quickly decided that he'd be far better company than the kids sitting out in the front area. The textbook dropped with the heavy thump to the table and the boy jumped in his seat and she barely held back an amused smile. She shrugged her backpack into the other seat and curled into the chair across from him, attempting to ignore him as she pulled out the paper with the chapters she had to read and started flipping through the textbook.

"Skipping on your first day?" His voice was deep - no surprise there - and warm, though she could tell he didn't use it often. He was still somewhat curled in on himself, which was not at all the posture of someone trying to make conversation. If it had come from anyone else, she would've ignored the question, but something about him intrigued her.

"Catching up. Henderson told me to read in here since they're having a test today." She replied honestly. He nodded at her as if he understood perfectly. She supposed it was possible that he did.

"You?" She questioned for no reason.

"Study hall. Then lunch. I'm here for a while." He hung out in the library for lunch? This guy just got better and better. She caught sight of his poetry and was inspired, again.

"What class are you reading Poe in? My favorites are 'The Sleeper' and 'Annabel Lee'." Poe wasn't her favorite poet, but he was good enough that she'd taken time outside of class to read his poetry. Probably her second favorite, because of 'The Sleeper'. It was kind of eerily soothing to her.

"It's not for class. All my work's done though, so I thought I'd just read some. I like Poe. He's kind of uplifting to people who're already depressed." He replied, dropping the book onto the table. She considered it a testament to the fact that this guy must _really_ dig Poe, that the slim book actually stayed open to his page.

"Beaten copy. Shitty home life or something?" She asked. Anyone who needed that amount of uplifting had some serious damage. Maybe even comparable to hers.

"Isn't everyone's? My mom's so fucking messed up, I doubt she'd notice if I didn't come home tonight. Dad left with a maid when I was a kid, my brother died last year, and mom's new cock has to be the stupidest fuck I've ever met." Holy shit, was she ever right. His brother died? She didn't even want to touch that one. She puffed out a breath.

"Fucked up shit." It was the only sentiment she could really offer. "My dad cheated on my mom after she had this brutal miscarriage almost a year ago, so we came all the way here from Boston." She rolled her eyes at the stupidity of it all. Her parents were so fucked up that they had to drop everything just to run away from a problem they should have dealt with. She didn't see why they had to tear everyone out by the root and drop them down in sunny hell on the other side of the country. She crossed her arms and leaned back in the chair.

"Guess we both have shitty lives then." Understatement. "So where do you live? I thought everything was taken in the area." He asked, looking thoughtful.

"Some house built in the 20's. Fucking huge. There's like, five bedrooms and three bathrooms or something." Her mom loved it, and apparently buying a house fixed all her parents' problems. Or at least, that's what they wanted her to think - she could tell that they were still fighting, she wasn't as dumb as they thought she was.

"Murder House." He interrupted her thoughts. She raised a brow at him. Murder House? What the hell was that about?

"No, that's seriously what they call it. I guess the first owners died in there, some crazy murder-suicide thing. The last owners too, same way." He said. Huh. Maybe the place wasn't a complete waste after all. She was living in a haunted house. Pretty badass.

"Cool." She said with a smirk. He stared at her for a second.

"I'm Tate. Pretty bitching that you're down with people dying in your house." His bid for her name was somewhat obvious, and it was cool that he was bold enough to not try to hide it. Plus, Tate? That was a pretty awesome name.

"It was theirs before it was mine, so whatever. I'm Violet. Are all the teachers this shitty? They act like I didn't learn anything in Boston." She asked, flipping the cover of the History textbook shut. She could hardly wait for her last three classes if all of them were going to be like Math and History. They were only about a month and a half into the year, it wasn't like she'd missed that much.

"Not all of them. Most of them grew up in Cali though, and they think they're just the shit, like everyone else here. Who do you have the rest of the day?" She slid the folded schedule out of her pocket and handed it over to him. Deciding that she had nothing else to do, she reached into the front pocket of her backpack for her Game Boy.

"Well, Lindon's kind of a dick sometimes, so it's possible you'll be in here again for French. But Mrs. Klein's pretty cool and we just started reading The Odyssey, so you'll be fine in English. And forget about Hare - if you're not in a sport, he won't even notice if you participate or not, as long as you're there for roll. We've got English and Gym together." He slid the paper back to her as she flicked on the game. She smiled; at least there was some hope for the rest of the day. Maybe he'd sit out with her during Gym - he didn't look the type for exercise.

"Cool. I just finished reading The Odyssey in Boston. So, can I expect to sit in the bleachers with you for Gym? Do you guys do that here?" She wasn't one to be anything but blunt, especially with people who offered her the same courtesy. The bleachers probably weren't just an east coast thing, but she supposed it could be. Maybe they always exercised outside here or something. Tate seemed to hesitate as Tetris started up.

"Yeah, they do that here." He said. They? Maybe she'd been wrong about the exercise, then?

"But I'm in track, so..." He let the sentence hang, and she nodded as she remembered him saying the Gym teacher paid attention to the athletes. She hadn't pegged him as a sporty guy, but she supposed he could be in track for any number of reasons, and it didn't refute what she'd thought of him - track wasn't exactly the most social of sports. Actually, it was pretty much the definition of 'loner sport'. She didn't offer anything back, and so they faded into a comfortable silence. She beat a couple of levels before getting bored and switching off the game, stuffing it into her bag. Her hand knocked against her cigarettes and she realized that she was dying for a smoke after the morning she'd had. She pulled out her Robert Frost book and appreciated the fact that they were reading poetry as similar as it was dissimilar before sinking into 'Design'. The bell rang loudly just as she reached the end of the poem, and she could hear the other students breaking free of the library in favor of the cafeteria or wherever they were going. Deciding to fuck it all, she cast her eyes up at Tate to find him watching her.

"Are there cameras in here?" She was fine with risking the librarian, but she didn't need to be caught smoking on camera on her first day.

"No." He said in a voice that screamed confusion. She didn't bother explicitly answering.

"Cool. Got a light?" She pulled out a cigarette. If he didn't get it, he was quite a bit dumber than she'd given him credit. Thankfully, he got up to prop open the window next to them and dug a lighter out of his pocket and lit it for her. She took a deep drag, letting the smoke fill her lungs before blowing it out towards the window. He sat down as she watched the tendrils of smoke curl out through the screen, and she realized that if he carried around a lighter, he probably smoked. She wasn't stingy to the point of rudeness, she held the fag toward him in silent offering. He only stared at it for a few moments, and she couldn't read his expression.

"You straight edge or something?" She'd been wrong once already, so it was possible. He rolled his eyes and took it from her. The tiny puffs he took were at odds with the expert way he held the white stick, and she couldn't tell if he was a smoker or not. Either way, definitely not straight edge. He passed the cig back to her and she puffed on it to the butt, blowing out shapes and trying and pathetically failing to spell out words like April had back in Boston. That girl had turned smoking into an art. He took the used filter from her and popped it out a small hole in the screen.

"No lunch to go with that nicotine?" His slightly biting tone told her he was only joking and not judging, so she shrugged as she pulled out a water bottle and her perfume to cover the smell. She personally preferred the mucky smoke smell, but she didn't need to get in trouble so early, dad would flip the fuck out. On the plus side, she got to use the perfume mom had bought her for Christmas.

"Not hungry." She told him and took a swig of the water. She zipped up the bag after tossing both of the bottles back in.

"Just as well. You'd think since they have so much money, the school would have decent lunches, but it's all swill." He told her. She only chuckled. That may have been a surprise to him, but she came from Boston public schools, where public school lunches might as well have been pre-digested. He started packing up, and she headed up to the librarian to check out the History book.

"So, where's the French room?" She asked as Tate walked up behind her. She'd found a somewhat worthwhile person here - she figured she may as well get her money's worth out of him. She was somewhat blinded by the smile he gave her as he propped the door open in a seemingly unconscious act of chivalry. _'Huh, turns out it's not dead,'_ she thought as she stepped into the rowdy hallway.

"I'll show you, it's on my way to Math." He must've had a different Math teacher than her, because he headed right, shouldering his way through the crowds. She followed in his wake until they turned right into a hall with more breathing room. He dropped her at the end of the hall, telling her that the English room was right up the stairs before he disappeared up them. She walked into the room, which was empty except for the man sitting at his desk. He was in his fifties, easy, and seemed like one of those teachers who desperately wished they could still hit kids with rulers. He looked up at her, eyes narrowing for a moment.

"Ah, Miss Harmon, yes? They told me you were coming today. You'll be sitting in that back corner there." He pointed to the left, a dank little corner that suited her perfectly.

"You've never taken French before, correct?" She nodded. This was the only class someone actually had a valid reason to treat her like she was behind - she was. She was just sick of Spanish, because it was the only foreign language they'd offered in Boston.

"Well, I've taken the liberty of setting out some lesson plans for you, and you'll find the dictionaries in the cupboard next to your desk. I expect you to try to catch up as quickly as possible, though I understand that starting so late in the semester puts you at a slight disadvantage and stretches you a little thin. You best get started." He waved her to the back, and she decided as she sat down that he wasn't as bad as he could have been, for which she was thankful. She started on the lesson plans he'd laid out for her - she always liked doing work to drown out the stress.

Halfway through the class, she frowned at her shitty bladder control. She'd only taken a single sip of water all day, there was no reason she shouldn't be able to wait for the break. She ended up raising her hand anyway to be excused. Lindon doubted her navigation capabilities, though. A peppy blonde in the front row raised a tanned, bangled wrist.

"I can show her the way, Monsieur Lindon." Her false voice offered, and Violet knew where she recognized her from - she'd been shit-talking her in Math that morning. She had no point but to accept the guide though, and she followed the mini skirt-wearing, hip-swinging dunce through the hall. They only got down the hall to an area where there weren't any classrooms before the girl swung on her platforms, smacking Violet square in the jaw. Though she was surprised and a little bit threatened, she didn't show it. Instead, she inwardly laughed at the expression on the lanky girl's face; it was clear she wasn't used to hitting people.

"Back the hell off Tate, okay tramp? You have no chance with him, so suck it up and move on, grunge freak." She spat at her. Violet had to resist the urge to outright laugh as the girl turned away and entered the bathroom a few feet away. She'd just gotten slapped for talking to a boy? _'Hell, the stakes run high here,'_ she thought to herself sarcastically. She made it back to class without another encounter with the idiot.

Thankfully, she passed through the class without being called on, or really being noticed much. It was still a joy when the bell rang, and she stuffed the dictionary and lessons in her bag with everything else. She trekked it up the stairs and entered the open door of Mrs. Klein's English classroom. The walls were decorated with posters that hinted that Mrs. Klein was more geared to younger children, but Violet could tell that the woman was heavy into English, as the board was half full of notes on the reading her students had been doing. The youthful woman looked up at her.

"Can I help you with something?" Her brows knit together in confusion.

"I'm Violet. New student." She offered.

"Oh! Of course. I'm sorry, I wasn't expecting you so quickly, it usually takes longer for new students to find the class." The woman smiled at her, and Violet felt somewhat awkward that she wasn't a friendlier person.

"Tate told me where it was. I have French right before this." She tried not to be rude. The teacher seemed surprised at the mention of Tate.

"Tate? How kind of him. He doesn't usually talk to new people, a bit antisocial. Extra credit, I think." She flipped open a booklet on her test and marked something in a square.

Tate strolled in through the door, book in hand, and Mrs. Klein smiled at him as he headed to the back of the room. At least she knew now that she was right - he was a loner, no matter the girl beating on Violet for speaking to him. She wondered if Tate knew about her, though she doubted it. Even if he did, he didn't seem like he'd be the type to give up his quiet days for a high-maintenance girl like that. Violet suddenly realized that Klein hadn't told her where to sit.

"Where do I sit?" She addressed the blonde woman.

"Oh, wherever you want. They aren't assigned. She replied and Violet headed to the desk next to Tate. She didn't give a damn what that bitch wanted, and she was pretty sure by now that he was the only person she could stand here, even more sure that she'd be disappointed by the level of intelligence in this class. It sucked in the worst way that they didn't have Advanced Placement English for Juniors here - she was miles ahead of where this class would be, she was sure. She'd have to find her version of The Odyssey when she got home. She was pulling her hair back out of her face when Tate tried to get her attention.

"Hey." She looked over at him. "What happened?" He gestured to his own jaw, and she realized it must have been bruising. She hadn't realized the girl had hit so hard. She rolled her eyes.

"Some bitch in the hallway. I looked at her wrong or something. Doesn't matter." The girl in question stalked through the door at that moment, followed by a couple groupies. Her eyes narrowed at Violet, who merely turned her attention to the board.

The hour passed exactly as she'd expected. The questions Mrs. Klein asked weren't the most thought provoking, and the answers were still pathetic and wrong half of the time. She couldn't help but snort quietly at some of the more atrocious answers, which came mostly from the group of blonde bimbos who'd congealed like old vomit around the one who'd slapped her. Soon enough they were packing up and heading down to the Gym, without the tagalong skank.

"So, do I have to change for this or something?" She asked. Tate looked surprised, but he shook it off.

"Only if you have your own clothes. You're not allowed to participate without them, so you're off the hook for today anyways." He started walking backwards away from her as they passed through the doors.

"Girls' locker room, guys' locker room, and y'know, just sit and chill." He pointed to the doors on the right of the Gym before flashing her a smile and heading to the guys' locker room at the other end of the Gym. She headed up the bleachers, pondering if that smile was the reason that other chick was so possessive. Mr. Hare shook her out of her thoughts as he made his way up to her.

"Violet Harmon, right?" He didn't wait for an answer. "As I'm sure one of your classmates has already informed you, it doesn't matter to me whether or not you participate daily. I do have some ground rules, though. One: you'll always keep gym clothes in a locker here in case the principal decides to drop in. Two: If you're not here for roll, you're absent. None of that 'tardy' shit, especially since you're not likely going to participate anyway. I expect you get enough exercise outside of school, it _is_ California." He continued talking, but her eyes were captured by a flash of blonde below on the gym floor, and she saw Tate making laps. He looked all wrong in his gym clothes.

"Clear?" Hare's question drew her attention back to him, and she nodded. He stalked off down the bleachers, and she was glad for the reprieve. Everyone in this class was apparently in sports, because they were all participating, though no ten people were doing the same thing. She pulled out her Robert Frost book and settled in, occasionally watching Tate. He was pretty damn fast, and getting faster all the while. The hour was over before she knew it, and she marked her page and replaced the thick book in her backpack. She was pulled from her musings as a group of boys approached the bleachers. They paused on the floor, thankfully, though that didn't stop them from cat-calling up to her.

"You must be new. Otherwise, you'd be all up on this." The apparent leader gestured to himself, to the laughter of his cronies. Violet continued to sit at the top of the bleachers. She knew she couldn't ignore them forever, but in no way was she about to go down there without anyone around. The boys' locker room door squeaked open, but they continued regardless.

"So pretty thing, why don't you join us? I'm sure we could make it worth your while." She was disgusted by the typical teenage sentiment for a moment before she realized it was Tate at the bottom of the bleachers. She shrugged into her backpack and stomped down the steps, circling around the awe-struck jocks and out the door as the bell rang. They were halfway down the hall before he said anything.

"Did you walk?" At first she didn't understand, but then she realized he was referring to transportation and nodded.

"I can drop you off, if you want. You're on my way home anyway." She looked at him for a moment, trying to ascertain his goal. She decided that he was only being kind though, and she could certainly use it today.

"Thanks." She accepted the offer as they stepped into the blinding sunlight. She followed him to his car, which reminded her more and more of April's back in Boston as they got closer to it. The brown paint was peeling and giving way to rust in some spots. It was clearly a beater, and that was oddly comforting after the day she'd had. It stuck out amongst the 90 and 91 cars around it, which gleamed like their artificial owners.

"You're gonna have to jiggle the handle." Tate told her over the roof before opening his door with ease only the owner of this baby could manage. She snorted in remembrance of all the times she and April had gone to music gigs in her beater as the door finally popped open. She stuffed her backpack down to her feet and slammed the door shut before wrestling the seatbelt over to its home. As Tate started the car up, she saw that it was already in first. She questioned this and he flippantly replied that the parking break was broken as he looked out the back window while simultaneously shifting over into reverse before effortlessly letting off the clutch and pressing on the gas to swing into the aisle.

He shifted back into first and took off, barely slowing at the stop sign leading into the road. He had fancy footwork, she had to admit as he sped up to speeds far above the 25 that was posted. They were rolling up into her driveway in no time, and she was thankful for the unfamiliar car in the drive. With any luck, her dad wouldn't notice the car she got home in.

"Thank God dad's got a patient. He'd probably have a heart attack if he saw that driving." She said, smiling as she unlatched the seatbelt.

"I can pick you up tomorrow, if you want." He offered as she stepped out of the car. She leaned in and couldn't help smiling at the generosity that must've been difficult for someone who didn't have any noticeable friends.

"Sure. What time?" She wasn't one to pass up a free ride to school. It was close enough, but she still didn't like to walk the way there.

"7:30 good?" He questioned. She nodded and mouthed a thanks after slamming the door shut. She headed up the steps as Tate slid out of the driveway and took off down the road. She headed up to her room, figuring that she might as well search for the Odyssey before relaxing. She popped open a window and lit a cigarette to take off the edge before grabbing the knife she'd been using to clear the tape of her boxes.

Being that her dad was seeing a patient, she was a little freaked out when she heard the doorknob turn, and she swung the cigarette down from her lips and behind her back. It wasn't Ben Harmon who stepped in, though.

The old woman had vibrant red hair and wore a maid's uniform. She smiled not unkindly down at Violet.

"I just wanted to introduce myself. Violet, right?" Hesitantly, Violet nodded.

"I'm Moira, the housekeeper. I'll be working for your parents. A house this big, the parents need a bit of help." She went to duck out of the door before turning back to Violet.

"By the way, you should get some spray for the room if you're going to smoke in here. I won't tell your parents, but I'm not going to lie if they smell it." The old woman smiled again before leaving, the door clicking shut behind her. Violet stared for a moment before shaking her head and returning to her boxes.

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><p>AN: Oh snap, Moira's back. And you all know she won't be able to avoid Constance for long. I know they're not the most interesting introductory chapters, but hang in there. Pretty soon, things are gonna get interesting.<p>

As a quick note, I do ask you guys to remember that I'm carrying quite a few college courses, and they do eat up a good deal of my writing time. I'll try to get chapters to you as soon as possible(I love writing them), but it has to take a back burner to higher education.

In the meantime, feel free to review! I always like a good guessing game, it'd be fun for you guys to guess what's gonna happen next time. See ya then!


	3. Spinning

AN: Ah, I'm so glad you guys liked the first two chapters. I hate to disappoint, but Moira is not a ghost - I just couldn't see the ghost angle working in this story. However, there is a different purpose she'll serve, because she's one of my favorite characters. Maybe you'll see some of it in this chapter, even.

I also wanted to let you know that I have the whole story planned, so all you guys have to do is sit back and wait for me to post the chapters.

Disclaimer: I still don't own any part of AHS. Heck, I don't even own the title of this story, I took it from an Avril Lavigne song. Also, this chapter title brought to you by Jack's Mannequin.

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><p><strong>Tate POV<strong>

Two weeks had passed since Violet's first day, and Tate had slowly sunk into a rhythm with her.

Every day, he pulled into her drive at 7:30 and she dashed out the front door if she wasn't already waiting on the steps. The house was always dark; he still didn't know what her mom did, although he'd learned that her dad was a psychiatrist. His mother had always wanted to send him to one, he'd told her. She'd laughed.

Ever since her third day, Tate had walked her to class, much to her protest. He'd been spot on when he thought that the rich bitches with their designer bags and platform shoes wouldn't accept Violet - she'd come to the library at lunch that day with a purpling eye and a gash on her forehead, grumbling about useless cocksuckers. He honestly thought she might have smoked half a pack just that day. She'd been the most irritable person for the rest day, to the point of almost snarling when she'd been called on to answer a question in English. Meanwhile, he'd been holding back laughter. He'd actually been forced to turn toward the window, because every time his eyes landed on Becky Crenshaw, he was reminded that Violet was in no way as dainty as her name implied. Becky, the snootiest of the snooty bitches, was sporting a split lip and matching eye to Violet's. He wanted to dissolve into snorts of amusement every time she flicked her hair over her shoulder.

Gym was always the same - he would run laps while Violet sat at the top of the bleachers reading poetry or The Odyssey. Brickerman and his groupies didn't bother her aside from the occasional cat-call after that first day, though they were abounding with crude comments in the locker room, which all the other guys found highly amusing. On the days that he had track practice, she stayed and came out to sit in the stands by the track, waiting for him to finish.

They spent the short car rides and their lunch period talking about their families and debating the quality of different bands. He found out that her favorite Nirvana song was actually a tie between 'Heart-shaped Box' and 'Drain You', and that she had the weirdest taste in music. He often teased her about being all over the place: She liked everything from Nirvana to Michael Jackson to Hootie & the Blowfish. Meanwhile, she made digs about how predictable he was - he only liked one type of music, and it was pretty exclusive.

Ever since she'd left her cardigan in his car last week and Addie had found it, she hadn't shut up about Violet. Addie wanted to meet her because she thought she was pretty, which she somehow knew by the scent that lingered on the cardigan. Constance had told Addie to be quiet about her fictional friend, so Tate had taken her up to his room to watch Scooby-Doo. The next day, there was no way for him to ignore it, Addie was right: Violet was really pretty. She wasn't overly tanned and she didn't cake on makeup like the other girls. In fact, he'd have been surprised if she wore any makeup. It kind of answered the question he'd been asking himself about how he fell into a routine with her so easily. There were some times, when she was smoking or reading, that her tongue would peek out of her lips to wet them, and he'd find his mind sort of blank apart from wondering what it would be like to kiss her. He could tell her lips would be soft, and he wondered if he would be able to taste the daily cigarette on her tongue. But then she would see him zoning out and ask why and he would shake it off and make up some bullshit story.

It was that Tuesday, two weeks after Violet's first day, when Mrs. Klein announced the project.

"We're going to be finishing up pretty soon here, so I want you to pair up for this project. You're going to make a map of the journey Odysseus took to get home, and you're going to make up a story of someone going on a modern day journey to get home. There must be _at least_ fifteen stops on this journey, so I don't want to get back some quickly-made-up trip to the gas station and back, alright?" There was a murmur of grudging approval as handouts on the project circled around and people started fighting over who to partner up with. Violet turned to him as she slid the last paper onto his desk. The Due Date glared at him in boldface on the top of the page - they only had a week to do it. He inwardly cursed. That meant after-school work. He sure as hell didn't want Violet to meet his mother. Maybe they could work on it in the library.

"So, I was thinking that we could work on it after school at my place. If we work on it on the days you don't have track, we'll probably have just enough time." The bell rang then, and she swung her backpack onto her shoulder while he zipped his own closed.

"Yeah. I'd offer to buy the poster board, but you know my mom. Not exactly in the habit of spending money on me." He agreed, glad that she wanted to do it at her house. She snorted.

"Oh please. My dad's seeing at least thirty patients a week. Do you know how much one of those sessions costs? Trust me, we've got money to burn." She rolled her eyes. He smiled at her; she was the only teenager he knew who wanted to spend her parents' money on school projects. He told her so later as she buckled into the passenger seat.

"Ha. Yeah, I guess. Along with keeping up with music, I mean." She replied as he reversed, nearly clipping a shiny new Sunbird. The boy driving it laid on the horn and they laughed as Tate threw it in first and took off.

It felt weird coming to a real stop in Violet's driveway, turning the key back. The silence was almost deafening, and he wondered what Mr. Harmon thought every day when he dropped her off. Violet was halfway to the steps before he caught up with her. She smiled at him as she pushed the door open. He shut it as quietly as possible behind them and followed Violet up the stairs. The came to a door that she pushed open to reveal a purple room that suited her perfectly. She dropped her backpack on the desk chair to the left of the door with a hefty thump and swung around to sit on the rug that covered the wooden floor, leaning against her bed. He sat on the carpet as well, facing her.

"So, how do you wanna do this? Are we gonna make an actual map, or just a storyline? And what the hell are we gonna do for the journey?" He questioned somewhat irritably. Violet snorted.

"We could always do it on a Boston girl trying to get home." She said. He couldn't tell if she was serious or not, but he thought maybe she was.

"Whatever." Even he could hear the bite in his voice, but he couldn't take it back. If she wanted to go home so bad though, he didn't know why she was bothering to be friends with him. He rolled his eyes, tugging at a fiber on his sleeve. Just another person who planned on leaving. There was a moment of silence, and he almost felt like apologizing before she spoke again.

"Actually, I was thinking that we could do a sort of 'Back-to-the-Future-meets-Nirvana' thing. Y'know, like a kid going back in time to see Nirvana in concert, then trying to find his way home?" She continued on as if nothing happened. The only thing that seemed abnormal was her tone of voice, which had a sharp edge to it. He wasn't sure what to make of it, so he carried on like normal, too.

"Sounds cool. Do you want to split the labor, have each of us do the different parts?" She hadn't said what she wanted to do for the map of the original journey.

"No, I think we could do it better if we work on them together. Once we get the poster board, we can do a sort of flowchart, I guess. Maybe draw some of the creatures or something. Are you any good at drawing?" He gave her a half smile and shook his head. He'd be damned if she was getting him to draw something for class - he could barely handle the basics.

"I can doodle a little, so I guess I'll do that. We should plan the journey today, though. Toss me my backpack?" She asked. The door, which had been half-shut, squeaked open as he dragged it out of the desk chair. An older woman with fire-hot red hair came in, donning a classic maid's outfit. She looked stricken to Tate, but it wasn't as if they were doing anything inappropriate. Something about her seemed vaguely familiar, but he shook it off in favor of Violet, who was retrieving a spiral-bound notebook and a pen from her bag. She pushed the bag to the side and flipped the notebook to a clean sheet. The maid cleared her throat, drawing Violet's full attention.

"Excuse me, Violet. I just came in to get your hamper." She walked over to the closet and pulled out a basket of dirty clothes. She hefted it up and walked out the door without another word giving Tate one last cursory glance. He looked back at Violet.

"Who the hell's that?" He asked, completely forgetting about the friction from mere minutes ago. Violet rolled her eyes.

"The housekeeper, Moira. I told you they had money to burn. She's pretty badass though, she doesn't even rat on me for smoking. I don't know what the hell that was." She said. He 'mm'ed in response, already forgetting the odd encounter. Violet popped up all of the sudden and headed over to her desk. She was fiddling with the radio on it.

"What are you doing? I thought we were planning Back to the Future 4?" He joked.

"Well, if we're gonna do that, don't you think that we should have some inspiration?" She questioned. Suddenly, the radio clicked on and he realized that she'd been changing a cd. 'Smells Like Teen Spirit' was playing, volume much lower than he'd ever played Nirvana. She smiled at him as she sat back down and took up the pen.

They were halfway through 'Something In The Way' before they decided that they'd worked enough for one day. He noticed as he put the key in the ignition that the patient that had been there when they'd gotten back from school was gone, though her dad had never checked to see who was there. It wasn't until dinner that Tate realized what had been tickling at the back of his brain all afternoon - the maid.

His father had run off with a maid from Violet's house.

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><p>After a few days, Tate gave up hope of trying to see the maid again. He wanted to verify if it was her, although he knew he had no way of knowing. Even if he did see her again, he'd never seen the maid his dad had skipped town with.<p>

Due the next day, their project was nearly done, they just had to do some last touches. They had a half an hour, and maybe ten minutes' worth of work left. Violet had gone downstairs to get them a couple of glasses of water, leaving him alone on her bed. He was pouring over the details of the calligraphy on their flowchart when the door popped open.

"Violet, whose car is..." Tate shot straight up, panicking slightly. He still hadn't met Mr. Harmon, and he definitely hadn't expected to in this way. No dad wanted to find a teenage boy on their daughter's bed.

Mr. Harmon didn't look much like Violet. His hair was dark brown, eyes blue, and his cheeks were way too prominent to compare in any way to Violet's. She must have looked like her mom. The older man's eyes narrowed at him, and Tate crawled off the bed, marker still in hand.

"Who the hell are you, and what are you doing in my daughter's room?" His voice was icy, and Tate was suddenly reminded of Robert Frost's poem, 'Fire and Ice'. He thought it was a weird time to be thinking about poetry, but he was a bit freaked out - how was he supposed to explain being in Violet's room, on her _bed_, when she wasn't even there?

"Dad?" Her voice came from the hall. He let out a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding as Violet's dad turned away from him, moving a bit to let Violet into her room. She looked between them and he shrugged at her, trying to compose himself. He didn't usually lose his shit so easily - her dad wasn't even that scary. He wasn't beefy or anything, and he assumed that psychiatrists didn't have histories of violence. Violet placed the glasses of water she'd been carrying on her desk.

"Chill out, dad." She rolled her eyes. "You knew that I was having someone over to work on a school project. I told you yesterday." She said, pausing the grunge rock that was crashing out of her radio speakers. Tate's eyes bugged a little - they'd been working on this project for more than one day. What the hell did she mean she'd told him _yesterday_? Her dad didn't seem to accept this as the correct answer to his question.

"You never once said it was going to be a boy, Violet. I can't _believe_ you went behind my back to have him in your room." He seemed to be barely keeping his cool, if you could call it that. His ears might as well have been spouting steam, because it was obvious he was fuming. Tate was starting to feel a little trapped.

"_Dad._ I didn't go 'behind your back' to do anything. I told you I was having someone over to work on a school project and you told me to make sure I stayed out of sight because you were having a younger patient, so we worked up here. I did _exactly_ what you told me to. It's not Tate's fault that you didn't ask if it was a boy." She defended.

"I don't care if I didn't ask, what possessed you to think that wasn't information you should tell me? Jesus Violet, you just let me walk up here to find him in your room. I thought we had a psycho in the house; one I _don't_ treat." The joke let him know that the gravity of the situation had majorly passed over, leaving him a little rattled but nonetheless whole. Mr. Harmon turned to him.

"Hello. Tate, was it? Sorry, but I'm sure you understand. A man's got to protect his daughter." He dropped a hand on Violet's shoulder, which she quickly shrugged off. Tate was just opening his mouth, completely unaware of what he was going to say, when Violet spoke up.

"Dad, we're almost done. Tate will be headed home soon, so why don't you go file recordings or something." She somehow managed to say without sounding condescending. It was a gift she had, he supposed.

"Yeah, yeah, alright. This door stays open, though." He said, propping the door against the wall as he headed out. They listened to the thumping steps down the stairs before Violet pressed play on the radio and the guitar and drums resumed. He gave her his most incredulous glare.

"You told him _yesterday_? Are you out of your mind? What if he'd come up here before, I'd be dead now! " He complained, resuming his seat on her bed and leaning over to finish perfecting the words on their poster board. She scoffed.

"Like he'd actually do anything. The most he'd do is probably kick you out. He's not exactly a fighter. He's all sensitive and shit - how do you think I got to be the way I am?" She flashed a joking smile at him and he rolled his eyes despite the laugh he gave.

"_Fuck_, I thought I was gone for a minute there. He may not look like he could beat the shit out of me, but he looked like he'd do anything to make sure I was miserable for the rest of my life." He said as he finished touching up the last word on the poster board. Violet snickered as she stapled together the pages of their journey.

"You could be more miserable than you already are?" She teased. They both snorted at the idea. He took the poster board to his car, and Violet's dad hung behind her in the doorway, watching as he backed out. He made a conscious effort to drive safer than he normally did, and it wasn't until he lugged his backpack up to his room and collapsed on his unmade bed that it really hit him that he could definitely be more miserable than he was now. He couldn't find any significant change in his life that would have made him so much happier - he barely ever cut himself or thought about suicide anymore. And the only thing that had changed was...

Violet.

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><p>AN: Oh boy. The feelings are getting deep. And poor Tate, he's so confused as to why. I have to admit, that's my favorite Tate: Confused Tate. He's so adorable. Besides that, things with Moira are getting interesting, wouldn't you agree? I wonder where they'll go? ;) I feed on reviews, just so you know. They sustain hours of writing.<p> 


	4. Sweet Sweet Heartkiller

AN: I'll be posting the chapters in sets of two, unless there are some unforeseen difficulties that arise. Also, you should consider yourselves lucky - I'm swamped with homework, but I took time to write these chapters and get them up to you. :)

So last chapter, we saw that Tate's developing some serious feelings for Violet. But is Violet feeling the same way? Read on to find out!

Disclaimer: I do not own AHS. I really wish I owned the coat from Tate's shooting spree, but you know what they say. All good things in time. The title of this chapter comes to you from Say Hi to Your Mom.

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><p><strong>Violet POV<strong>

The passing days were marked, for Violet, for a decline in the life she was used to. Her dad's shaving blades went missing less often until they didn't go missing at all anymore, and she thought much less often about how ironic it was that her father diagnosed teen after teen with depression and declared that they were dangers to themselves, but he failed to notice the scars that littered his own daughter's wrists.

If she thought about it, it might have been because she spent so much more time surrounded by people than she had back in Boston. She was in the bright California sun almost day in and day out. Often enough, she was able to take her frustration out on people at school - while Tate walked her to Math in the morning ever since the incident with Becky and her little tramps, and to her classes after lunch, that only upset that crazy bitch Crenshaw more. Violet was always on edge when she left Math, but by the time she reached History she'd worked off most of her tension, if not all of it. She didn't get bruised anymore, as Becky had apparently noticed it only meant more time that Violet could be found with Tate. It was a lucky thing the little psycho didn't know about lunch.

Comparatively, Tate brushed off the topic of Becky Crenshaw exactly as one would the topic of a complete stranger. Although Violet couldn't wrap her head around how, he seemed completely oblivious to the fact that the chick was head over heels for him. She couldn't deny feeling a pleasant joy at this, and she fell into a pattern with him over the days.

He picked her up for school at the same time every morning, they met every day in the library for lunch, she always sat and pretended to read in Gym, while mainly watching him make laps around the other students, and she waited for him on the days he had track practice. They spent their free time talking about music or life in general. Ever since she'd announced that she appreciated the occasional Michael Jackson song, or Hootie & the Blowfish's 'I Only Wanna Be With You', Tate hadn't let it go - he called her haphazard, and she always replied with a dig about how predictable he was. His music tastes all ran along the same line: angry guys screaming about the inadequacies of society.

It was sometime last week that she'd noticed the change in him. He was always zoning out, and she thought she'd caught him staring at her a couple times. She wondered if he felt the same attraction that she felt towards him, but every time she asked him why he was spacing out, he blinked and told her something that she was ninety-nine percent sure was utter bullshit. She never pushed, though - if he didn't want to tell her what was going on, he didn't have to. He didn't owe her anything.

She was surprised it took the class so long to finish The Odyssey, but not surprised in the least by the project. It was the same project they'd had back in Boston, almost verbatim. She turned to him almost immediately. It wasn't as if she'd partner up with anyone else.

"So, I was thinking that we could work on it after school at my place. If we work on it on the days you don't have track, we'll probably have just enough time." She worked out aloud. The bell cut through the class at that point, and they swung their backpacks up and headed off down the stairs.

"Yeah. I'd offer to buy the poster board, but you know my mom. Not exactly in the habit of spending money on me." He said, agreeing with her. It always amused her when he talked about his mother, but that wasn't what caused the snort to leave her.

"Oh please. My dad's seeing at least thirty patients a week. Do you know how much one of those sessions costs? Trust me, we've got money to burn." She couldn't help but roll her eyes as they split ways in the Gym. As if she'd make him ask his mother for money. She wasn't _that_ horrible. They were ducking into his car when he told her:

"Y'know, you're the only teenager I've ever met who wants to spend her parents' money on school projects." She couldn't help but laugh.

"Yeah, I guess. Along with keeping up with music, I mean." It felt like she was always buying new CDs. There was a screech of brakes and someone laid on their horn as Tate whipped out of the parking spot like usual, and she laughed at his shitty driving as he took off. Violet could tell that he felt weird as he parked the car and turned it off in her driveway, but she didn't bother waiting for him to get it together. The way she figured it, he'd come in when he was ready. He followed her almost immediately anyway, so the point was somewhat moot. She led the way up to her room, where she dropped her bag down on the desk and sat against her bed. Tate looked so awkward as he sat down that she almost felt sorry for him, but she knew that he'd get over it.

"So, how do you wanna do this? Are we gonna make and actual map, or just a storyline? And what the hell are we gonna do for the journey?" She snorted a little at his irritation, which was palpable, before an idea popped into her head.

"We could always do it on a Boston girl trying to get home." She joked. Tate shut down like a light. She could actually see the change - his shoulders curled in a little bit, his head bowed, and his hand was picking at invisible fuzz on his sleeve.

"Whatever." He snapped icily. Violet frowned. She could've sworn that it was obvious she was joking. She didn't know what to say for a moment, until she decided that the best thing to do, with Tate anyway, would be to continue on like she hadn't said anything. It wasn't like she'd meant to hurt him.

"Actually, I was thinking that we could do a sort of 'Back-to-the-Future-meets-Nirvana' thing. Y'know, like a kid going back in time to see Nirvana in concert, then trying to find his way home?" She suggested. Not only was it her original idea, but she knew that any mention of his favorite band would cheer him up. It seemed to work, but only a little bit.

"Sounds cool. Do you want to split the labor, have each of us do the different parts?" He offered, and she could tell that it was a way for him to distance himself from her. She wasn't about to let that happen, though.

"No, I think we could do better if we work on them together. Once we get the poster board, we can do a sort of flowchart, I guess. Maybe draw some pictures of the creatures or something. Are you any good at drawing?" She questioned. He replied with a pitiful half-smile and shake of his head in the negative. She wasn't that good either, but she supposed they'd make do with what they had.

"I can doodle a little," if by 'little', one meant the ability to scratch out a stick figure or making patterns when she was supposed to be taking notes. "...so I guess I'll do that. We should plan the journey today, though. Toss me my backpack?" She asked, deciding to tackle the easy part first. They needed poster board for the map anyway, so she tugged a notebook out and withdrew a pen, flipping to a page as Moira entered the room. The older woman cleared her throat for attention, and Violet's head swiveled to see her standing in the doorway.

"Excuse me, Violet. I just came in to get your hamper." She explained rather needlessly. Violet frowned and watched her gather the hamper. Moira was acting weird. The woman shuffled almost noiselessly back to the door and gave Tate an odd look before walking off. _'What the hell was that about?'_ she wondered. Tate was looking at her.

"Who the hell's that?" He asked. All of the ice was gone from his voice, and she wondered if it had something to do with Moira. Rolling her eyes, she decided she would just ask Moira later.

"The housekeeper, Moira. I told you they had money to bun. She's pretty badass, though - she doesn't even rat on me for smoking. I don't know what the hell that was." She said. She barely heard his hum of acceptance as she unfolded her legs and stepped over to her CD player. She popped out the Michael Jackson disc that was in it and clicked it into its case, grabbing _Nevermind_ from the stack of cases and popping it in.

"What are you doing? I thought we were planning Back to the Future 4?" He joked behind her. She didn't turn around to respond.

"Well, if we're gonna do that, don't you think that we should have some inspiration?" She pressed play and 'Smells Like Teen Spirit' began to play at a volume that wouldn't attract her parents. He rolled his eyes in amusement and she smiled widely as she sat down again to get to work.

Half an hour came and went, and they decided they'd done enough work for one day. She saw Tate to the door and watched through the window as he pulled out like a madman before shaking her head and walking back towards the kitchen.

He probably didn't like her. She knew that she wasn't the most girly of girls, and she didn't bother with makeup. Almost everything she owned was at least a size too big. She was kind of condescending to everyone at school, and she had the weirdest sense of humor. Normally, Violet took pride in being the odd girl out, especially here - she'd rather die than be a part of that designer bullshit world.

It wasn't as if she wanted to be different, because she liked who she was. She was just... Stressed? Yeah. Stressed, for the first time, about whether someone else liked who she was, a male someone. She slammed the empty glass on the counter, huffing. What did it matter? She wasn't someone to mull over liking a boy, she should just ask him tomorrow if he liked her and be done with it. Even as she thought it though, she knew she wouldn't. Tate wasn't the kind of boy she should just ask something like that - that bitch Becky had to have, and it obviously hadn't gone well for her.

Becky brought up a whole new can of worms. How was she supposed to get a date with Tate when Becky the blonde bombshell couldn't? Especially when she was already being sabotaged before she'd even begun. She carried the glass to the sink where she filled it with water, and took a seat at the island. Moira walked in with a spray bottle and washcloth, and Violet was glad for the distraction.

"Hey Moira." She offered, taking a swig of the water. The old woman smiled lightly at her; she seemed distracted.

"What's up?" She asked, trying to make conversation. She wanted to talk to someone, but her dad would just be trying to shrink her and her mom would ask if she was making friends yet. Moira was a safe option, as far as she knew: She wasn't likely to care about how Violet's school was going she wasn't a shrink, and the incident with the cigarettes told her that she wasn't gonna go straight back to whisper in her parents' ears about anything they talked about.

"Well, what do you mean?" The woman replied, reaching up to wipe off the glass front of a cupboard. Violet raised an unimpressed eyebrow.

"What do I mean? You're clearly avoiding conversation, and you gave Tate the weirdest look, like you'd seen a ghost or something. What the hell was that about?" She unloaded - it felt good to be perfectly blunt with someone. Moira continued cleaning in silence for a few moments.

"The Langdon boy? He just looked like someone I once knew - it surprised me, that's all. I'm sorry, if I frightened him away." She said. Violet rolled her eyes at the crap reply, but allowed the woman to stick to her story. They talked for a few more minutes before Moira excused herself to go dust and vacuum or whatever she did, and Violet trudged back up the stairs to her room, grudgingly accepting the fact that human conversation wasn't in the cards for the night. She turned the radio up a little and flopped onto her bed to read a comic, not caring anymore if the noise bothered her parents.

She only realized later that she hadn't told Moira Tate's last name.

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><p>Things were quiet in the house for a week aside from the days that Tate stayed to work on their project. After her mom bought the poster board, she'd managed to draw what she thought were at least some pretty decent renditions of Odysseus' journey. She was particularly proud of the Cyclops, and it was no coincidence that Tate had pointed out that he liked the beast most.<p>

They went until the day before the project was due before anyone even knew that Tate had been working with her. Maybe it was simply because neither of her parents knew she had a project, though. Of course, dad was gonna be done pretty early with his last patient of the day, so she'd told him the night before that someone was going to be there after school to work on it with her. He'd taken it pretty well in stride, even told her to work on it up in her room. She should have known that wouldn't be the end of it, and she should've expected the mumbling upstairs as she started up them with a water for Tate and herself. He didn't sound happy, and she winced before deciding that it was his own fault.

"Dad?" She said, drawing his attention from Tate, who was standing next to her bed like a deer in the headlights. Tate gave her a shrug and she set the glasses on the desk before turning to face the verbal abuse her dad was surely about to start spewing at her. She didn't let him start, though.

"Chill out, dad." She rolled her eyes at his furious expression. "You knew that I was having someone over to work on a school project. I told you yesterday." She reminded him. It was amazing how little he could remember of what she said to him, while every word his patients said was etched in the walls of his head.

"You never once said it was going to be a boy, Violet. I can't _believe_ you went behind my back to have him in your room." His voice was a little raised, and she felt sorry for Tate, who was still standing awkwardly still in the corner. She held back an eye-roll, knowing that it would only irritate her dad further.

"_Dad_. I didn't go 'behind your back' to do anything. I told you I was having someone over to work on a school project and you told me to make sure I stayed out of sight because you were having a younger patient, so we worked up here. I did _exactly_ what you told me to. It's not Tate's fault that you didn't ask if it was a boy." She replied. She knew that she'd get a strong talking-to for disrespect or something later, but she wanted him to go. It was almost time for Tate to leave, anyway, and she didn't want the previously-nice afternoon to end on her dad blowing up at them for nothing. She was beginning to think that Tate didn't like her in any way other than friendship, so he had nothing to be upset over.

"I don't care if I didn't ask, what possessed you to think that wasn't information you should tell me? Jesus Violet, you just let me walk up here to find him in your room. I thought we had a psycho in the house; one I _don't_ treat." The anger in his tone deflated and the joke he made sealed the deal. She almost sighed as he turned to Tate, who still seemed pretty shaken, and rightfully so.

"Hello. Tate, was it? Sorry, but I'm sure you understand. A man's got to protect his daughter." She quickly shrugged off the hand he put on her shoulder, trying to control her blushing. Tate looked like he was about to refuse that something like that might've happened, but she didn't want to hear that.

"Dad, we're almost done. Tate will be headed home soon, so why don't you go file recordings or something." She suggested, willing him out the door.

"Yeah, yeah, alright. This door stays open, though." He said as he left, pushing the door against the wall. She waited until she couldn't hear his steps on the staircase anymore before pressing play and letting the angry rock music drown out the silence. Tate was glaring at her when she turned around.

"You told him _yesterday_? Are you out of your mind? What if he'd come up here before, I'd be dead now!" He said, exasperated as he sunk onto the bed. He leaned to perfect some of the words on their poster board. She scoffed at the idea that anything would've happened, a little amused that Tate was scared of her dad.

"Like he'd actually do anything. The most he'd do is probably kick you out. He's not exactly a fighter. He's all sensitive and shit - how do you think I got to be the way I am?" She joked, smiling at him. He laughed and rolled his eyes at her.

"_Fuck_, I thought I was gone for a minute there. He may not look like he could beat the shit out of me, but he looked like he'd do anything to make sure I was miserable for the rest of my life." She laughed lightly as he stapled the pages on the journey they'd made up together.

"You could be more miserable than you already are?" She teased. They both laughed, although she hadn't stopped staring after his sleeve had fallen back a few days ago, wondering if there were newer scars to match the old ones she'd seen. She hung at the door with her dad, watching the show he put on of driving like the fires of hell weren't on his heels, for once.

Dinner wasn't fun that evening - her mom wouldn't stop asking if she liked Tate, and she was sure she knew even though Violet never actually said yes.

* * *

><p>AN: Is Violet ever going to tell her mom? Hmm, things I wonder. Also, what's up with Moira? The plot thickens. Don't you just hate when you like a boy but you think he doesn't like you and it turns out he's thinking the same thing? ;P<p>

Slight reference to cutting, but I'm assuming you wouldn't be too surprised, since you watched the show.  
>Reviews reviews reviews! :3<p> 


	5. Get Out Alive

AN: Fair warning, there's more cutting in this chapter. And angry Tate. The two go hand-in-hand, really. There's also a hint to a rather important part of Violet's perspective. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I don't own AHS, or the song 'Get Out Alive' by Three Days Grace.

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><p><strong>Tate POV<strong>

That morning Larry told him it was supposed to be cold, so he grabbed his jacket when the man wasn't looking. He shrugged into it as he walked to the car, then whipped out of the drive as normal. The lights were on a few minutes later when he pulled into Violet's driveway, but he didn't think much of it as she exited the house and bounced up to the car, jiggling the handle like an expert.

"Nice jacket. Sort of army-meets-function." She said as she slammed the door shut and buckled herself in. He stared for a beat, caught off guard and idling in her drive.

"We're gonna be late if you sit there much longer." She snapped him out of it. He turned to her. She looked nice today, which was not to say that she didn't normally, but she was really pretty today. She was wearing some floral-print dress over a pair of shiny gold tights, topped off with her beaten black hi-tops. Over it all was one of her customary oversized cardigans. It wasn't really the most astonishing outfit ever, but it just seemed too pretty to waste on the dreary school and the shitty fucks in it.

"You wanna skip today?" He prayed she didn't have a test or something. He did have a quick errand to run, but they could do whatever they wanted to after that. They could go to the Ridgeway Mall and browse through the record stores or something, have lunch - whatever she wanted. He even had a couple bucks to blow.

"Sure. You got something better in mind?" She smiled at him as she pushed her backpack over the midcolumn into the backseat. He couldn't help smiling back, it was like instinct now. Her smile lit up her face, she really should do it more.

"I've got a quick errand to run first, but after that, we could go to Roxxy's in Ridgeway, have you been there?" He questioned as he reversed into the street.

"No, what's that?" She replied as he slammed the stick into first and took off. He told her, and they made it back into his drive and he shut off the car before the panic started to set in. What if she freaked out when she saw Addie? He didn't think she was that kind of person, but he'd been let down by everyone else, so why not Violet? He turned to her.

"You have to promise. I mean, not to freak out, or or... Like, stare or something." She looked confused, but she nodded all the same. He told her that he'd be right back and headed inside to get Addie. She'd been watching cartoons and complained as she shrugged into her jacket, but he got her to the door and opened it.

"You have to get money for the lady." Addie told him as she stepped out onto the porch. He gave her a look; what the hell was she talking about?

"Money, for the woman. Mom pays her every time, thirty dollars. She has it in her purse, on the table." He sighed and motioned for her to go out to the car while he searched for Constance's purse. It wasn't on the table like Addie had said, and it was at least five minutes before he finally found it on her and Larry's bed. He dug through it for her wallet and pulled out a fifty. A couple of bucks wasn't going to pay for lunch, he reasoned with himself as he pulled the front door shut and jogged to the car. Violet was smiling into the backseat at Addie, and he let out a breath, pushing the hair out of his eyes. He opened the door and stuffed the fifty into his pocket before dropping into the seat. Addie was still laughing at something as he started the car up.

"I have to take Addie to a care facility first, but then we can go to that store." He explained to Violet as they took off. Twenty minutes later, he dropped into a more correct speed as they entered the Ridgeway city limits and followed the main road to Stacy and Stewart's Adult Day-Care, a small, homey building on the outskirts of the real busy center of the city. He took Addie in and paid for the day, leaving him fifteen to spare of Constance's money. He got back in the car and started it up, looping the seatbelt around him for once - he felt kind of odd without it, sitting next to Violet.

"Addie's nice." She said, and he couldn't remember the last time someone had said that, so he smiled at her.

They made it to the mall in no time, and it was pretty dead, so he parked right outside the bookstore. Violet wanted to take a detour to the classics section, so they cut across to a corner of the store with a fireplace crackling and a big winged chair resting in front of it. It was kind of useless in California, but he disregarded it as she cut over to the shelves dedicated solely to Shakespeare. He flipped through some Byron and Keats as he waited, and she finally decided on _The Tempest_. She paid and they took a right out of the store.

She window shopped until they made it to the record store, where she snorted. The display was decorated in full _Pretty In Pink_ style, records stapled to the walls and ceiling. He thought it was sort of false advertising, considering they catered more cds than records, but that was their business. The goth girl reading a comic at the counter knew him by sight and told him they had some new Nirvana-esque rock in, and he wound his way through the stands to the substantial rock section.

They perused for a while before he could see her getting a little bored. He spent a few minutes deciding between two of the new cds before he felt a small hand on his arm. He turned slightly and was surprised by how close Violet was, looking up at him.

"I'm a little bored. Are you almost done?" She asked, and he nodded mutely as he replaced one of the cds without looking to see which one he'd chosen. He paid for it and they strolled through the halls for a bit before Violet asked to go into a store with goth clothes displayed in the windows. He didn't really care for goths - all weepy and 'nobody pays attention to me' when they drew the most attention with their crazy looks. He got irritated every time he was in the same room as Stephanie Boggs and her freak groupies.

Violet navigated the store and its freak cashiers and found a top pretty quick though, and they were out in no time. It was barely enough to keep him from punching the guy at the register though, who kept eyeing Violet like a piece of meat and glaring at Tate.

"Do you want some lunch? It's almost ten." He pointed to a large clock on the overhang that separated the food court from the rest of the mall. She nodded and they decided on a place that claimed authentic Mexican, but smelled more like typical TexMex. There was a small fight at the register over him paying, but the guy took the cash when Tate distracted Violet with two bottles of water. He smiled at her as she continued complaining on their way to a table away from the other mall-goers.

"Would you just get over it and eat; it's done." He said as they sat down. She rolled her eyes at him, but dug a fork into her rice anyway. They sat there for a while after they finished; she asked to see his cd and she opened it, taking out the cover booklet. She chose her favorite song from just the lyrics - it was something about leaves changing and people dying. He told her that she couldn't choose favorites when she hadn't heard the songs, but she asked why couldn't she and he gave up. They got up a few minutes afterward, and circled out the other side of the court, which led to a different wing of the mall.

Violet stopped in a store of trinkets, mostly flowers and fairies, but nothing caught her fancy enough to buy, so they left and continued on their stroll. A few minutes later, Tate shifted towards her to avoid a pack of boisterous jocks and his hand brushed hers. He wondered what it would feel like to walk down the hall, here or even at school, holding her small, soft hand in his own. People would probably stare, at least at school, but he thought he might like it, if they were recognizing the fact that she was his. He shook his head to rid himself of those thoughts though, because she wasn't his, and probably didn't want to be. He didn't think he was that bad, but he wasn't exactly the kind of guy a girl wanted to date though - he was mopey and he read poetry instead of going to football games, blared Nirvana instead of going to school dances.

They roamed the halls for a little bit longer before they came to the upstairs arcade, and she dropped some change on a game of Pac-Man. She kicked butt at games, which he found a little bit surprising because he only ever saw her play Tetris. She declared that she was ready to leave when he declined a game, and they headed out. It was only noon, but they headed to the car, where she leaned into the backseat to dig a cigarette out of her backpack. The angle gave him a pretty nice view of her ass, but he strategically avoided looking at - he didn't need any more to fantasize about. He pushed his cd into the cubby on the door to distract himself. He lit her up as usual and they sat in the car for a few minutes until the cigarette was gone.

He drove to a nearby bridge then, and they parked and climbed down to the rocks by the river it covered. There were some kids on the same side, but they avoided them and sat in the sun. It was cool enough that he kept his jacket on, and he rested against a smooth boulder as Violet threw a couple of rocks as far as she could, another lit cigarette hanging from her lips. She hopped over to join him after throwing only a few, already bored.

"So, how do you think we did on the project?" She questioned, removing the fag from her lips. They'd turned the project in the day before, and he pondered it as he watched the smoke she blew out disappear in the breeze.

"Pretty good, I guess. Probably the best one in there, in any case." He declared. She nodded more to herself than him and offered him the cigarette, which he took and pulled in a drag from. He still wondered if he could taste the smoke on her if he were to kiss her, he wondered every time she offered him a drag, but he was distracted by the kids from the other side wandering over as he handed the stick back to her.

"Hey." One of the guys greeted. Tate glared at him, while Violet ignored them completely, staring out at the river. They didn't take the hint.

"I said _hey_." Repeated the guy, kicking the rock under Violet. Tate shot up, towering a little over the guy because of the slightly higher ground.

"Back off. We don't want you here." He threatened lowly. The other guy looked like he might start a fight, but a girl reached forward to grasp his hand. She urged him to leave, and they took off up the hill without another word. It was clear they were totally wasted, which was probably the only reason it hadn't come to a brawl. Violet was staring up at him when he was sure that the other kids weren't coming back down.

"Didn't know you could be so threatening. 'S cool." She told him as he sat back down. He thought about that in the silence that enveloped them, watching her as she watched the clouds roll by.

She shivered a little later. She was obviously trying to hide it, but he realized that she was only wearing a dress and a rather flimsy cardigan. Meanwhile, he'd donned a sweater that morning and could do without the jacket. He shrugged out of the heavy fabric, awkwardly draping it around her shoulders - it enveloped her, and most of her thin frame disappeared within the almost-black folds of fabric. His hands on her shoulders caught her attention, and she stared almost _through_ him for a few moments. He brushed his bangs out of his eyes partially to gather his thoughts and partially to hide his face.

"You were shivering. You should have told me if you wanted to leave or something." He said, completely avoiding the subject of how cute she was, bundled up in his jacket. He didn't need to slip up and say something that would make this day and every one after it awkward for them - it was the first friendship he'd had, and he really wanted to keep it. He couldn't remember being this happy before, even before they'd moved from Virginia. Age seven was really too young to uproot a kid; Constance should have known, or cared, that it would fuck him up.

"Nah, I wanted to stay. It's nice here - everything else just kind of melts away, and you can watch the water ripple or see shapes in the clouds and be like: 'Hey, that one kind of looks like the baby on the cover of _Nevermind'_." She replied. He smiled and looked up at the clouds - he never had been one to search for shapes in them, but he guessed he could see what she meant.

By all means, the bridge they were under should've amplified the noise of traffic above them, but instead it served as a weird sort of boundary against the rest of the world. She pointed out clouds to him and made him guess what they reminded her of for a while. There was one that he would have bet his life looked like people having sex, but she laughed and told him no, it was a dragon. He laughed with her until he realized it was time to go get Addie and drop Violet off at home, if they didn't want her parents to suspect anything.

They traipsed back up the hill to his car. He pulled a U-ey as soon as traffic cleared and drove back to Stacy and Stewarts, where they told him that Addie had been very well-behaved and had gotten a gold star. He smiled and led her out to the car, where she buckled herself into the backseat. She dug through Violet's shopping bags without permission and he almost told her that people asked before going through other peoples' things before Violet asked if Addie liked what she had bought.

Addie largely disregarded the play, which he knew she must have liked because he'd come home sometimes to find one of his books missing, or left somewhere it hadn't been that morning - Addie was no dummy, and she was exceptionally adept at understanding poetry. She raved about the shirt, though, for half of the ride home, telling Violet that she would be a 'pretty girl' in it. Addie didn't comment on the fact that she was still wearing Tate's jacket.

She was upset when he dropped her off at home, but she calmed down a little when he told her that Violet had to go home anyway and scampered up into the house after saying goodbye. He was dreading the end of the day as he pulled into her drive, and she leaned into the backseat to stuff her shopping bags into her backpack. Her side brushed against his arm, and he couldn't ignore the tingles that shot up it.

She dragged the backpack into the front seat with her and smiled at him as she shrugged out of his jacket.

"Thanks. For the jacket, and the day. It was... Cool." There was a sort of pause in there, and he thought that maybe she was going to say something else, that she might have been staring at his lips because she was looking at him but not really making eye contact, but he told himself that it was just wishful thinking and that he shouldn't get his hopes up because he knew what happened when he did. He told her it was no problem, and she slunk out of the car and up to the door. He could've sworn that there was an extra swing in her hips as he reversed out of the driveway.

He took the stairs two at a time when he got home, heading straight into his room and locking the door behind him - he wasn't about to let Larry or Constance ruin his day. He popped in his new cd and turned up the volume, drowning out any sound that might come muffled through the walls. He listened to it for a couple of hours until there was a banging on his door that he couldn't ignore anymore. Constance stood, irate, in the hall when he opened it, music still blaring.

"You turn that infernal racket off right now Tate, and you join the rest of this family for dinner." She turned away as he hit the power button on the stereo, letting the 'family' comment slide for once - they were the worst impression of a family he'd ever seen. Larry had moved in almost a year ago after the horrible death of his wife and kids, which he still thought had something to do with Larry cheating with Constance. Then, there'd been the untimely death of Beau, which he still didn't think it was an accident as their mother liked to say. Larry had worked his magic on Addie for the most part, but Tate would never call him 'dad'. It was far too late for that, and he didn't want to let another person into that position - anyone would just let him down, like his real father had. He couldn't even remember him, only had a few pictures squandered away in a loose floorboard in his room.

Constance said grace and they dug into the food she'd prepared. Larry was making pleasant, if empty, conversation with Adelaide before she brought up Violet. The whole atmosphere of the dining room stuttered to a chill halt as she regaled how pretty Violet was, and how nice. He could feel the ice wafting from Constance, and he thought he could feel her eyes boring into him. He didn't look up though. Addie went on about Violet for a few more minutes before their mother's fists slammed down onto the table and the conversation immediately halted. Everyone was staring at her with wide eyes when she finally looked up, and he could definitely tell that she was furious at him more than Adelaide.

"How dare you introduce my sweet girl to that little _tramp_." She spat at him, and it took him a few minutes to realize she was referring to Violet: 'tramp' was not a word he associated with her. He sneered at her.

"What the hell ar-"

"Don't you use that language at my dinner table." She interrupted, pointing a bony finger at him. Her double standard was nothing new, so he just waited for her to have her say. She took a calming breath and continued in a lower voice.

"I saw you picking her up this morning while I walked my dogs. How long has this been going on? You know I don't like that house; it almost broke my fragile heart to see that little hussy getting into the car. I'm surprised she didn't come onto you right there; but no, you had to bring her back to _this house_, and put my sweet little angel in the same car as her!" She declared. He could feel the anger rising in him, provoking him to talk back, or storm away. She continued before he could do anything, though.

"No. You're not allowed anymore. You will not be picking her up for school, you will not speak to her; you _certainly_ not allow my precious Addie to endure her influence. You _will not_ be friends with this girl, Tate Langdon, am I clear?" She questioned. Before he could tell her properly to fuck off, Adelaide spoke up.

"No! Mom, Violet doesn't have any friends - Tate has to be nice to her. The only other person she's friends with is their maid, the redheaded one. She said Moira's the only one who listens to her!" Adelaide was very agitated, but the keening noise Constance gave told him that even Addie couldn't get her to change her mind - she might've even cemented it.

"Absolutely not!" She screeched, and the other three occupants in the room winced.

"I will not have another man in this house lured away by those whores! You _will not_ speak to her anymore, Tate." She demanded, as if her opinion was the end all and be all. It was the last straw, and Tate's own fists slammed down on either side of his half-full plate, rattling the table and slopping some water out of his drinking glass. He stood up, knocking his chair back to the floor.

"You don't get to decide that for me." He yelled back at her before throwing his napkin to the table and stalking out of the room without excusing himself. He took the stairs quicker than he had that afternoon and bypassed his room in favor of the bathroom, slamming the door behind him with such force that the sound rang in his ears in the confined space. He opened the medicine cabinet and reached blindly for the razor blades - they were in the same place they always were, and he popped one out of the case almost in a daze.

The sharp sting of the blade slicing across his wrist caught his attention, and he sank down onto the closed toilet to watch the blood well up and take a weird sort of pleasure in the dull ache of the cut. He made another above it, slicing open an old scar and took joy it the sting of that one too, which reminded him that there was something harsher than his mother, and there was always a way out.

He sat in the bathroom for a couple of hours, so much stinging in his arms that it almost numbed him, before he replaced the blades and ducked out of the pristine white room once he knew everyone was tucked into bed. He led himself to his own bed, where he stripped off his clothes and climbed under the covers, curling into a ball to fall asleep while the relief of the numbness still held him in its grasp.

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><p>AN: Sorry again to those of you who aren't comfortable with the whole cutting thing, but I did warn you, and it's a pretty integral part of the enigma that is Tate. I think I did a pretty good job of tackling him this chapter - I particularly liked the mixture of romance and misery. I hope you did, too. Now, on to Violet's perspective on things!<p>

Don't forget to review!


	6. Playing Favorites

AN: Aww. Your guys' reviews are so great! I was surprised that people actually pay attention to these Author Notes. I try to make them fairly quick and witty so they aren't such a chore to read. But seriously you guys. Your reviews. They fill my fanfic-writing heart with previously-unknown glee! Here's another chapter for you, my lovelies.

Disclaimer: I do not, nor will I ever, own AHS. And the song 'Playing Favorites' belongs to The Starting Line.

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><p><strong>Violet POV<strong>

Mom was up early that morning, and she greeted her daughter with a piece of toast slathered in strawberry jam. Violet munched on it on the way to the door, brushing the crumbs off before tugging the heavy door open and skipping to Tate's car, which always arrived at the same time. She jiggled the handle quickly to get in - it was pretty chilly out, which was probably the reason for the badass jacket Tate was sporting. She was surprised that she'd gotten used to the weather so fast - she'd dressed for warmth as nearly seventy degrees would've been downright warm back home in Boston. But her legs were a little cold, and she stuck them as close to the warm air blowing at her feet as possible.

"Nice jacket. Sort of army-meets-function." She complimented - the color sort of accentuated his blonde hair. She slammed the door and strapped herself in for the wild ride to school. Tate simply stared at her for a moment though, and she wondered if she had something on her face that she hadn't noticed.

"We're gonna be late if you sit there much longer." She prompted. He turned fully towards her instead of backing out of the drive though, and she began to feel a little nervous. Did she have wrinkle marks from her pillow or something? Maybe her eyes were really bloodshot? She was losing patience and was about to ask what he was staring at when he finally spoke up.

"You wanna skip today?" It definitely hadn't been what she'd been expecting, and it gave her a few moments' pause.

"Sure. You got something better in mind?" She answered, curious. She pushed her backpack into the backseat to distract herself from his eyes.

It wasn't often that a boy asked her to skip with him, and from what she understood, it usually ended in sex. She didn't know if she could go that far, but she could definitely do some heavy kissing - it'd been forever since she'd kissed someone, and she was really into Tate. Even if he wasn't into her in the same way. Some kissing couldn't mess things up too much, could it? She smiled at him, and he smiled back. He was extra-cute when he smiled. He had dimples, and she thought of how her mother had told her once that dimples were actually a birth defect. They were the cutest birth defect Violet had ever been graced to witness.

"I've got a quick errand to run first, but after that, we could go to Roxxy's in Ridgeway, have you been there?" He questioned, not bothering to look behind him as he reversed into the road, turning the opposite direction than they normally went to school. She had no clue what he was talking about - she hadn't been to anywhere but the supermarket and school.

"No, what's that?" He slammed into first and took off, explaining that it was a record store in the Ridgeway Mall. She was paying attention until they pulled into the driveway of what she assumed was his house. And hell, what a house. It was almost as big as hers, and stood gleaming white in the California sunrise. Tate grabbed her attention though, as he turned off the car and angled his body towards her.

"You have to promise." He began. "I mean, not to freak out, or.. Or like, stare or something." She had no idea what he was talking about, but she could tell that it was important to him that she promised, so she did. He nodded and told her he'd be right back before exiting the car and jogging up to the house.

She sat in the car for a few quiet minutes waiting for him, wondering what errand he had to run, and why his mother couldn't do it. As Violet understood it, his mom basically worked for herself, so there was no real reason why she shouldn't be able to run her own errands. She was pulled from her musings as the door swung open again, and Tate seemed to be having a conversation with someone in the doorway. The other person, a girl, exited and came skipping towards the car, while Tate disappeared back into the house.

It was only when the girl got close to the car that Violet noticed something off about her. She pulled on Violet's heartstrings before she even knew what was wrong. Normally, irrational emotion bothered and abhorred her, but she just couldn't ignore the heavy feeling in her heart as the girl, who she noticed was actually a young woman, climbed into the backseat. She suddenly remembered Tate telling her about his older sister Addie, who had turned twenty-two last month. She smiled into the backseat at the girl.

"You must be Addie. Happy belated birthday." She offered, wanting the girl to feel comfortable waiting for Tate.

"You're... Violet?" The girl asked. She nodded in response. Addie lit up like a Christmas tree.

"I knew you were a pretty girl!" There was a little bit of a lisp, but Violet could still easily understand, and she blushed.

"What are you talking about? I'm not that pretty." She ducked to hide her burning cheeks.

"Yes! You're pretty girl, even Tate says so!" Addie replied, and Violet's head swung up despite her burning cheeks.

"Tate?" Was the only thought she could vocalize, not even a full sentence. Addie nodded vigorously.

"I found your jacket a while ago and told Tate that you were a pretty girl. The next day he came home and watched Scooby-Doo with me again, and we talked about how you were a pretty girl." Addie said. Violet could only stare for a minute, incapable of forming a response. Finally, she uttered a thank you and stared off into space for a minute, the possibility of Tate thinking she was pretty running a thousand miles an hour through her brain.

She looked down at herself and was horrified by the outfit she'd thrown together that morning - what the hell was she wearing her mom's old leggings for, and under such a baggy dress? Her Chuck's were scuffed and the edges were caked in mud. And she was almost certain that she'd worn the same cardigan every day for the last week. If he had thought she was pretty once upon a time, she was sure there was no way he would now.

"Do you have any other friends, Violet?" Addie asked her suddenly, and Violet gave her a blank look for a moment, having slight difficulty switching mental gears.

"Uhm... No, not really. Just Tate, and kinda my housekeeper, Moira. I guess we're not really friends, but we talk and stuff." She replied, unsure what Addie was getting at. Her eyes lit up though at the answer.

"Can I be your friend? I've never been friends with a pretty girl!" She seemed so excited at the prospect that even if she'd wanted to, Violet couldn't have said no. She smiled back at Addie. As she was still facing Addie in the backseat, she didn't notice Tate approaching the car until his door popped open and he sank into the seat. Addie was still laughing as Violet turned around in her seat and Tate started up the car.

"I have to take Addie to a care facility first, but then we can go to that store." He explained as he backed out. It seemed a little tough to Violet that their mother couldn't even make time to take Addie herself, but she didn't say anything about it. They reached town in about twenty minutes, and Tate shifted down into third gear as he cruised, for once, at the posted speed limit. They pulled up to the care building before they reached the hub of the town, and she stayed in the car as Tate led Addie in. He didn't say anything when he returned a few minutes later and hooked his seatbelt around him for once, so she decided she would break the silence.

"Addie's nice." Was the only thing she could think of, but she was glad for it when she received the brightest smile she'd ever seen from him in return. She hadn't realized it would make him so happy. Then again, if Addie was to be believed, then Violet herself made him happy.

She was still pondering over whether Addie could've been pulling a prank on her - after all, if Tate didn't like Crenshaw, what chance did she stand - when Tate pulled into a parking spot outside of a bookstore. He switched off the car and they headed in.

"Do you mind if I take a detour? I've been wanting to get a new book for a while - I've read everything else over and over." To be honest, she could read the same poetry continuously for the next century and probably never be bored of it. She was always finding new meaning in it, but that didn't mean she wanted to limit herself to Poe and Frost for the rest of her life. She liked the occasional Shakespeare too, and there were a surprising amount of references to his numerous plays in most poetry. Tate said he didn't mind, so she headed for the section under the hand-made 'Poetry' sign.

It was a pretty big selection, most of it dedicated to Shakespeare. She spent some time sifting through the plays and sonnets before deciding on _The Tempest_, mainly because she couldn't count the number of times she'd seen the word 'tempest' used. She took her purchase to the counter and pulled out a wad of lunch money that would never see the school cafeteria, detracting 7 dollars and stuffing it back in with the change the lady gave her.

Tate led the way out into the mall proper, and she was a little awed. There were so many stores. In Boston, the closest shopping plaza had been an outlet mall with mostly indie/grunge stores that catered to her particular interests. This place was nothing like that - it was filled with shoe stores and high-end makeup boutiques, bright and shiny stores that carried exclusively one brand of purse and clothing stores she wouldn't be caught dead in. They passed a nail salon that stunk worse than her aunt Tally and she rolled her eyes at the group of girls skipping school to get manicures. Tate knew where he was going though, and the halls were almost empty since it was a school day, so it didn't take them long to get there.

She knew the place the instant she saw it. The neon pink sign declaring it 'Roxxy's Rock Records' would have done it, but the thing that really caught her eye was the display window. She couldn't hold in her snort of amusement.

You didn't see many record stores these days with display windows that could've come straight from the set of _Pretty In Pink_. Ducky was one of her favorite movie personalities, and it was one of her favorite Molly Ringwald movies. She followed Tate inside the store, which had an odd sort of yellowish lighting. There was a goth girl blowing a bubble at the counter while she read a comic. Tate must have shopped here a lot, because the girl popped her bubble and told him they had new 'Nirvana-esque' rock in.

As she followed him to the back, she wondered if he ever hated Cobain for OD-ing, since it meant Nirvana-esque instead of Nirvana. Personally, she was glad for it - most bands had two, maybe three good albums before either they accepted the way the music business worked or their music became so popular she couldn't stand hearing it anymore. She already saw the signs of it, what with 'Smells Like Teen Spirit' on half the radio stations. At least, back in Boston. Maybe it was just less popular here.

It was almost an hour before she decided that she was bored enough to tell him. She'd seen almost all the cds here - and what was with the display of records if they barely sold any? She decided she kept up on new music too well, or maybe this place just didn't have enough. Either way, she'd been wandering the stacks for almost twenty minutes without really looking at anything. She'd even drifted into the hip-hop section for a little bit. She glanced over at Tate and saw that he was focused on two cds, paying her no heed.

As she was looking at him, with his head hunched over a little so that his hair fell into his eyes, she was suddenly reminded of what Addie had told her.

There was really no way to test the truth of it without making a fool of herself, but that had never stopped her before, so she decided that she wasn't going to change the way her life ran for one boy who may or may not like her. She took a leaf out of all the flirting she'd ever seen in movies, and snuck up beside him slowly so that he didn't notice her. When she was almost too close for comfort, she reached up and gently laid a hand on his arm. He turned towards her and blinked when he realized how close she was. He didn't try to move away though, and she took that as a good sign.

"I'm a little bored. Are you almost done?" She didn't bother trying to sound flirtatious - she didn't want to be too obvious, especially when it seemed like it was working. He nodded and fumbled a little while replacing one of the albums. She hadn't realized he'd made a decision, but she followed him to the check-out anyway. The goth angrily punched something into the cash register and popped another bubble before holding her hand out expectantly for Tate's money. She gave him his change, and they exited the store.

The sun was shining through the windows in the ceiling, so she took her time strolling through the halls and looking at things in display windows that caught her eye. They came upon a store that the girl at Roxxy's must have loved, and she headed in to see what they had to offer.

Most of the clothes were a little dark, or had too many chains hanging off of them, but she found a lacy green top on the clearance rack and was glad that the trip had been worth the time. The girl stocking hard rock cds on the back wall was glaring at her, so she decided to come back another time to check out their underground music collection. The guy at the counter was doing the worst job of hiding the fact that he was leering at her, so she hurried out as soon as he gave her the change and creepily told her to have a good day.

"Do you want some lunch? It's almost ten." Tate suddenly asked as they came to the food court, pointing to the clock above it.

She thought it was a little early for lunch - even at school their lunch hour wasn't until eleven - but she agreed anyway because she was a little hungry. She decided on TexMex, and found out that he liked faux Mexican, too. Tate went to give the guy at the counter the whole amount and she fought back instantly. She wasn't in the habit of being indebted to people, and certainly not guys. It suddenly hit her that he was treating lunch like a date though, so she allowed him to think he'd won the argument by sending her over to get a couple of waters. She sort of liked the game they were playing though, so she continued to rant about her independency on the way to the seats.

"Would you just get over it and eat? It's done." He teased her as they came to a table away from the small smattering of people. She rolled her eyes, but picked up her fork and dug in. The enchilada was a bit spicy, and she was glad that Tate had thought of the waters. He waited patiently for her to finish, and threw away the trash, setting the tray in the small stack on top of the trash bin. He rejoined her at the table and they sat in silence for a few minutes, watching the people flutter by.

"What cd did you get?" She asked suddenly, if only to make conversation. She wondered if it was something she had, but the case he produced didn't look familiar. She'd never heard of them before, so she used her nail to slit open the plastic covering. It took a few minutes to get the damn tape that was always covering every inch of any opening off, but she finally popped the case open and slid the booklet out, setting the cd on the table.

The first song was some bullshit about noodles that made her roll her eyes - she liked it when songs were actually about something, not just a meaningless representation of some guy's stream of consciousness. The rest of the songs were of a higher quality though, for which she was thankful. There was one about radio songs and the masses, and she figured this was the band's first cd, because that was pretty common nowadays. It was the second-to-last song that she found the most interesting. There was a pretty sweet metaphor about people dying and leaves changing that made her miss Boston a little bit, but then she looked across the table at Tate, who was spinning his lighter on the table, and decided that there might be perks to living in California, too.

"Number eleven's my favorite." She told him as she slid the booklet back into the front of the case and pushed it back across the table to him.

"You can't pick your favorite song from just the lyrics." He told her as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"Why can't I?" She questioned. There was absolutely no reason for that. Tate took a breath as though to answer, but he let it out instead, shaking his head.

"No reason." He brushed his hair out of his eyes and got up to throw away the plastic and stickers from the casing, stuffing the cd back into the bag. They left the food court on the other side, heading into another hall.

They came to a store with wind chimes and little figurines, a few of which sparkled and caught her attention. She wasn't exactly the girliest of girls, but she had a sore spot for fairies. She liked that, while they were the best little sprites in American fables and children's stories, they were usually considered evil in most European mythology. She scoped out the wares for a little bit, but nothing was interesting enough to spend money on, so they exited the store in favor of continuing down the hall.

They were coming to an intersection when a rowdy group of jocks turned the corner. They continued on, taking up most of the side of the hall, and made no sign of rearranging to avoid Tate and herself. Tate shifted closer to her as they passed the boys, and his hand brushed against hers. It didn't matter if it lasted twenty minutes or only half a second - she wanted to hold that hand. She wondered if he was thinking the same thing, but didn't say anything about it. They continued on in silence, heading up a level by escalator.

They came to an arcade soon enough and she smiled, nudging him over into the dark room with her shoulder. The sounds of the games surrounded them, unsullied by the voices of other skipping teenagers that could've been heard in Boston arcades at any time of the day. She headed to the open Pac-Man game and dropped in a couple quarters. She played a round before offering the controls to Tate, who declined. He was probably the first boy she'd met who didn't love playing games at the arcade.

"Well, I'm ready to leave, if you are." It was only about noon, but they had gotten there pretty early. He nodded and they descended the escalator and crossed back to the bookstore. The fresh air hit her full in the face, crisp and chilly for California, and she realized that she was really craving a smoke. She tossed her bags in the back as soon as she shut the car door behind her, leaning between the seats to gain access to her backpack and the pocket that housed her cigarettes. She sank back to sit properly, smoke in lips, and looked to him for a light. He retrieved his lighter and flicked it, holding the flame to the tip until it burned bright before sliding it back into his pocket. She wondered why he always kept a lighter on him when he didn't smoke, but disregarded the thought as the sweet smoke filled her lungs.

They sat, parked, as the smoked she exhaled filled the car until the cigarette was gone. She manually rolled down the window to toss out the butt as he started the car up, letting most of the smoke escape. She buckled herself in and rolled the window back up when the air was clear, unwilling to be blasted with chilly air as he drove off.

The short ride was quiet, and she wondered where he was taking her - she hadn't cared to ask, but they weren't going the right direction to pick Addie up, and it wasn't time to return home yet, anyway.

He pulled off to the side of the road as they came up to a bridge, parking and shutting off the car. She clambered out and had him light her another cigarette before following him down a slope to the rocky edge of the river the bridge passed over. Tate propped himself against a boulder in the sunlight, and they both ignored the other kids there as she found some decent rocks and started throwing them as far as she could, watching them plop into the water and imagining the sound it made since she couldn't hear it. She only threw a couple before the inside of her elbow hurt and she grew bored, so she turned and climbed her way up a couple of rocks to join Tate, sitting beside him so that he blocked some of the breeze that was starting up.

"So, how do you think we did on the project?" She knew they did fine; she was just trying to make conversation. The silences they shared weren't awkward by any means - they were pretty comfortable, in fact - but she enjoyed talking with Tate, even about trivial things, like school. She flicked some ashes to the rocks before taking another drag.

"Pretty good, I guess. Probably the best one in there, in any case." He replied. She wasn't one to brag, but she thought 'probably' was a bit of an understatement.

She nodded anyway and offered him the cigarette. He took it, and she watched in rapt attention out of the corner of her eye as he took a deep drag off it before handing it back. She saw his eyes close in bliss before he blew out the smoke slowly, milking it to the last wisp.

When she'd first met him, she'd thought he didn't like smoking. As of late though, she wondered if the only reason he didn't smoke was because he didn't have the money or means to get a hold of smokes. She could hear the other kids approaching them, but she continued to watch Tate out of the corner of her eye.

"Hey." Came a male voice from beside her. She ignored him, but her eyes flicked to the water when Tate glanced over, glaring at the guy beside her. He smelled like pot, and her nose wrinkled. She took a drag of her cigarette, trying to blot out the smell. Smoking was one thing; pot was another, and she didn't care for it.

"I said _hey_." The guy repeated, obviously agitated. He kicked the rock under her, indicating that he was here for Violet's attention rather than Tate's. As soon as he kicked the rock though, Tate shot up like a bullet. She looked up at him.

Tate probably had a couple of inches on the guy regularly, and with the added boost from the rocks, he towered above the wasted guy.

"Back off. We don't want you here." He threatened coolly. She couldn't see his eyes, but she could just tell that they'd be icy to match his tone. The look the other guy was giving Tate told her that she might want to move out of the way so as not to get caught in the middle of a brawl, but a girl behind him grabbed his hand and asked him to c'mon because their friends were going somewhere, and he turned and took off up the hill with her without a second thought. She kept her eyes on Tate, and he looked down to catch her gaze. She almost blushed as it hit her that he'd been trying to protect her. Maybe Addie was right, after all.

"Didn't know you could be so threatening. 'S cool." She told him as he sat back down. He gave her a passive sort of smile and she gathered that the conversation was going nowhere, so she dropped it. She tossed the butt of her finished cigarette away as she watched the clouds roll by over them. She tugged her cardigan tighter around herself as she started shivering, but she continued to watch the clouds, telling herself that it had been colder than this back in Boston.

She was pondering the shape of a cloud when she felt a weight drop onto her shoulders. She looked down to find his jacket folding around her front. She mused momentarily about how much bigger than her he was before her eyes snapped up to his.

Holy Shit. Holy shit, this had to be the most... she didn't know what the word was, suggestive? No. Romantic? Not quite. Either way, he hadn't done something so obvious as of yet. Everyone smiled at their friends, gentleman paid for lunch, threatening that kid could've been just because he didn't want to deal with him. There was no explanation for this aside from him not wanting her to be cold. He swept his bangs out of his eyes and she thought she might have seen a light blush, but it was gone in an instant.

"You were shivering. You should have told me if you wanted to leave or something." But she didn't want to. She was perfectly happy exactly where she was.

"Nah, I wanted to stay. It's nice here - everything else just kind of melts away, and you can watch the water ripple or see shapes in the clouds and be like: 'Hey, that one kind of looks like the baby on the cover of _Nevermind'_." She told him. She wondered if she might be overdoing the Nirvana references, but he smiled and looked up at the clouds, so she just decided to scale it back a bit.

They sat there for a while, guessing the shapes she saw in the clouds and ignoring everything else.

"Two people getting busy." He guessed, stating it as though there were no other option. She snorted in amusement.

"Holy hell, Tate. A fucking dragon. See? Those are the wings." She pointed to a part that stuck out of the cloud they were focused on now. His eyes squinted and he tilted his head at the cloud, which was already shifting into something else. They laughed together for a minute before he sobered up and told her that it was probably time to go. She pushed herself up and followed him up the hill, sliding her arms into his jacket. It still held some of his body heat, and she discreetly sniffed it while he had his back to her. She'd always heard other girls, ones with boyfriends, talking about how good boys smelled. She decided they were right, or at least Tate did.

He made a u-turn as soon as traffic was clear while she watched nervously - a car could come over the bridge any second and slam into them, but they were safe. They made it back to the care facility pretty quick, which was a good thing, because the clock on the radio read 2:00. She should be home in thirty minutes. Tate led Addie out of the building, smiling at her and saying something that looked like 'Good job', but she wasn't that good at reading lips so she wasn't sure. Addie got into the car and buckled herself in before Violet could hear the crinkling of her bags from the mall. She looked into the backseat at Addie, who was admiring her new shirt, as Tate slid into the drivers seat.

"Do you like it?" She questioned. She could never be mad at Addie; the girl was like a ten year old. She didn't mean that in a derogatory way, but from the way Tate talked about their mom, she doubted the woman had spared much time to teach her daughter manners. Addie took a peak at the play she'd bought, but largely disregarded it.

"It's a pretty shirt. I like lace things. Mom doesn't let me have them." Violet felt bad for her, but there wasn't really anything she could do about it. She could talk her up, though. Tate put the car in motion.

"Not even a headband or something? I think you'd really like a pair of Madonna gloves. Y'know?" She said. Addie giggled.

"Mom doesn't like Madonna; she says she's a dirty tramp. But I secretly watched her on Tate's tv. I like the shirt more, though. It's really pretty." She repeated. Violet smiled at the idea of Addie sneaking into Tate's room to watch a Madonna concert or music video. She could just picture Tate grudgingly changing the channel for her.

"You will be an even prettier girl in this, Violet!" Addie exclaimed, and she couldn't help smiling at her, mumbling a thank you and wondering what Tate was thinking.

Addie continued showering her in praise about the shirt until they pulled up the their house, where she complained that she wasn't done hanging out with Violet. Tate diffused her blossoming anger by telling her that Violet had to go home too, so she didn't get in trouble. Addie replaced the shirt and said goodbye to Violet, who smiled and returned the sentiment.

She leaned into the backseat to shove the tell-tale bags into her backpack so her parents wouldn't know she'd skipped. Her side hit his arm as she leaned back and she swallowed, trying to ignore the tingling radiating from the area. She dragged the backpack back into the front with her. Smiling at him, she shrugged out of his jacket.

"Thanks. For the jacket, and the day. It was... Cool." She couldn't think of anything else that wouldn't hit to a date, and 'cool' sounded pretty lame to her. Her eyes were trained on his lips, which he'd licked. They sort of glistened and they were a deep pink color that just begged to be tasted. She shook herself out of the stupor as he told her it was no problem - not exactly the sentiment she'd hoped for, but she smiled anyway and let herself out of the car. Feeling a little flirtatious, she added a little girly swing to her step just to test it out. She felt awkward, but she made it to the door without tripping, which personally, she considered a victory. She leaned against the door for a moment after shutting it behind her, a wide smile playing on her lips. She skipped up the stairs and spent the rest of the evening in an unusually good mood.

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><p>AN: Quite a different end to the day for Violet, huh? No Moira in this chapter, but don't worry, she'll be back. How are you guys feeling about chapter length? This one's a little longer than usual - did you like it? Should they be shorter? Longer? Should I slow down? Speed up? Whatcha think? Reviews reviews!<p> 


	7. Never Surrender

AN: Here I bring you chapter seven. Gosh, I can't believe I'm this far already. Like, an actual AU fanfic that's more than a one-shot or little bits pieced together. This is such a milestone for me. And thank you guys so much for all the reviews, I could never do it without you! Much love to y'all. 3

**WARNING**: There are unpleasant mature situations in this chapter. I will place one of the little swirly things in front of and after the almost-rape scene. I hate giving away part of the chapter, like a spoiler, but I like you guys to know so that you can avoid reading something if you don't want to.

Disclaimer: Guys, stop bugging me about this! I'm SO not Ryan Murphy. Honestly, I doubt he'd write Violate fanfic - he only likes to squash our shipper hearts. ;P 'Never Surrender' belongs to Skillet.

**Tate POV**

Violet's lips were every bit as soft as he'd thought they would be. They were smooth and pliant under his own, and warm with her heavy breath. Her tongue peeked out from behind her lips and gained quick entrance to his mouth. She tasted like nicotine and chocolate, and it all mixed up into one sweet taste.

His lips disengaged from hers and slipped over the edge of her jaw and down her neck. She gasped as his teeth grasped a small patch of skin and nibbled. Her hands pressed into his chest and she squirmed below him, messing up his sheets. He wasn't exactly sure how he'd gotten her into his bedroom, but such trivial matters didn't bother him.

He sucked on a patch of skin behind her ear and was rewarded with a low moan that sounded like his name. He smiled against the damp and heated skin, kissing his way to her shoulder. She let out another moan, and this time his name was clearer. He nipped the skin at the junction of her neck and shoulder, and this time she gasped.

"Tate!" He could never get enough of how her voice wrapped around his name in the throes of pleasure.

"Tate!"

He shot up in bed, blinking away the dream as Constance burst into his room.

"You have to get up now. Larry has to get out of the drive, and your beast is blocking the way!" She snapped at him. He sank back down to the pillows as he slowly came to grips with what was going on - it had only been a dream. Just a dream.

He sighed in a combination of frustration and dejection, sliding out of bed and slipping a shirt over his bare chest before stumbling his way down the stairs and out to the car, which he moved so that Larry could get out. He parked it back in the driveway and grumbled to himself up to his room about shitty luck and tricks his mind played on him.

It was still a little early to go get Violet and he hadn't showed the night before, so he made his way to the vacated bathroom. It smelled like Larry's cologne - he used this bathroom when Constance was using the one in their room - and he scrunched up his nose as he switched on the small fan. It didn't really help, but he tried anyway. He stripped out of his clothes and jumped in the cold shower.

Fifteen minutes later, hair sticking to the sides of his face, he was dressed and hopping into the car, on his way to pick Violet up.

She snorted when she got in the car, and he gave her a confused look. What was so funny?

"You look like a drowned rat." She told him, snickering. He looked in the rearview mirror and rolled his eyes, running his fingers through his hair to dislodge it from where it was plastered to his head.

"I had to take a quick shower. Sue me." He defended as he backed out of her driveway. They took off to the school, Violet turning up the radio, which was playing a song he hadn't heard before. She hummed along until it went to commercial, and she turned the volume back down.

"I have a History test today. Blegh." She complained. He smirked a little at her - Violet was really good at school; she never got bad grades but she loved to complain anyway. He supposed it was just something teenagers did without really thinking about it. Sort of like how it didn't matter if you were good at Math or not; you complained about it anyway.

"Sucks." He replied as he swerved around a kid who'd pulled halfway into a parking spot and whipped around into one. Violet steadied herself on the dash as they jerked to a stop. He smiled at her as he turned the key back and popped it out. She unhooked her seatbelt and rolled her eyes.

She teased him all the time about his shit driving, and he'd only gotten worse. He'd never admit it, but he loved it when she insulted him about it - she smiled in this funny way when she was trying to sound serious about how he desperately needed to take Drivers Ed. again. She was teasing him about it as they walked into school when he noticed the group of guys staring at her on the steps.

He pulled his eyes away from her face to take in the whole of her as he followed her to History in their normal routine. It was warm today, so she'd forgone leggings for tights. They were black and had a slimming effect on her. The dress she was wearing was more form-fitting than usual, and she'd gone for a brown cardigan that didn't fall anywhere near her knees. She was still wearing her hi-tops, but he had to wonder when she'd started dressing like this. It wasn't such a drastic change, but it sort of was at the same time. His heart skipped a beat for a second as he wondered if she had a crush on someone, but he quickly resolved that he would've noticed her making sickening moony eyes at some guy.

Either way, he made sure to walk right behind her so that other guys couldn't stare at her hips as they swayed slightly. They parted ways at the door to her Math class and he made his way to class, trying to forget the fact that other guys were fantasizing about Violet. It made him want to punch something.

Despite his efforts, he spent History ignoring the teacher, wondering if the guy in front of him, or the guy in the corner thought about her. It wasn't until Study Hall, when he could hide himself away from everyone, that he could get it out of his head. He pulled his cd player out of his backpack and slipped the headphones on, blasting Nirvana as he made aimless drawings on the page in front of him.

He wasn't aware an hour had passed until Violet stormed around the corner. He slipped the headphones off his head and hit the power switch.

"Nice portable." She said, none too kindly, as she swung her bag around onto the table, slumping into the chair across from him. She kicked her legs up on the table and he raised a brow at her.

"The hell happened to you?" He questioned as she dug through her bag for a cigarette. He pulled out his lighter and lit the smoke once she finally retrieved it. She was so irritated that she coughed when she took her first drag.

"Fucking jocks." She said after she stopped coughing. He waited for a fuller answer while she took another drag, not coughing this time. She let the smoke out and looked at him through the cloud. She rolled her eyes.

"Brickerman and his damn groupies fucking hit on me after that test. He actually grabbed my ass. I slapped him so hard my hand _still_ hurts, and you know what Henderson said? It was my 'first warning'. Nothing about me being sexually harassed or anything." She kicked the table.

He didn't know how to take in what she'd said for a second. After it sank in, he felt a blind rage willing him to find Brickerman and beat the shit out of him, but it passed as he watched Violet. She wasn't cowed by what they'd done; she was pissed. She needed someone to calm her down so she didn't get expelled for beating the shit out of them herself.

"Dick. You want me to beat the shit out of him?" He offered anyway. Hell, maybe it would make her feel better. She blinked at him, as though the idea had never crossed her mind. She snorted suddenly, and he was surprised to find that she was laughing. She ran her hand through her hair before lifting her eyes to him again. She smiled at him.

"Thanks, but no. I'm just pissed - I just needed to rant to someone. You don't need to get suspended or anything over a couple of assholes. I'm sure they'd just love that." She took a puff off the cigarette, looking at the groups eating outside on the grass. He wasn't sure if she actually meant that or if she was just saying it, but after a few moments of debating with himself he decided that if she wanted him to give Brickerman a bloody nose, she'd have told him flat out. She wasn't one of those girls who said one thing when they meant another.

"Well hey, if you change your mind, don't forget: Hare doesn't go into the locker room with us." He offered anyway, more of a courtesy than anything since he could see that she wouldn't take him up on it. She smiled at him again, flexing her hand.

"Thanks, Tate." She said. He nodded to her hand, trying to ignore the praise he read in that sentence.

"You should get some ice for that. It'll take the sting away." He told her, sliding his portable cd player back into his backpack. She blew out a puff of smoke and, noticing that it was accumulating above them, he got up to prop the window open. The smoke began to drift out into the warm late fall air.

"Eh. It'll be fine, I just need to massage it a little." She was still flexing it as she held the half-smoked fag to her lips.

"Massage it?" He questioned. That was a method he'd never heard of before. She nodded, puffing out the smoke towards the window.

"Stimulate the nerves in a different way, get them to calm down. Always works, better than ice if you ask me." She told him. He nodded and filed the information away, though he'd probably never have to worry about how to get the sting of slapping someone to go away. He hummed a reply to her, watching her clench and unclench a fist. She got up to toss the dead cigarette through the hole in the screen. She looked down.

"I wonder if there's just this pile of cigarette butts accumulating down there. What do you think they'll think when they find it?" She wondered aloud. He smiled at her ability to be so unfazed. Any other girl would be simpering to her friends, crying like it was the end of the world or bragging that she'd been groped by the quarterback. Not Violet, though.

She turned and grabbed her perfume, spraying herself. He noted the time on the clock and got up to shut the window. She slung her backpack over a shoulder and he did the same, following her out of the library.

The bell rang as they entered the hall, and he could hear the people making their way through the halls from the cafeteria and outside. He dropped her at her French class and continued upstairs to Math. He spent the hour without her thinking about her strength of character. The thought that Violet could be the subject of a poem, she was such an enigma, made him smile as the bell rang and he headed over to English.

She was sitting quietly in his usual seat in the back corner, reading something in the textbook as he entered. She didn't look up as he flopped into her normal seat - he didn't blame her for wanting to be as far away from everyone else. He looked at the book and saw that she was reading 'A Rose For Emily' and he pulled out his own textbook, flipping open to Sonnet 130. They didn't speak as they waited for the rest of the class to fill in. She flipped away from the short story as the bell rang, finding the sonnet and looking up to Mrs. Klein, who was writing some of Shakespeare's background on the board. The woman turned around, putting her chalk down.

"Now, let's jump right in. We all know who Shakespeare is - we have him to thank for influence into almost every play, movie, and even some music today. Can I have a volunteer to read the homework?" She began. Nobody raised their hand, which wasn't at all surprising. Half of them probably hadn't even read it yet, and the rest didn't have the slightest clue how to read half the words, he was sure. Normally, he wouldn't have been surprised to see Violet's hand up - her brazen personality made her unafraid of attention. However, circumstances changed the normal order, and she sunk into her seat as though she could hide from Mrs. Klein.

"Nobody?" The woman sounded a little disappointed. "Alright; Tate? Would you please stand and read the poem for us?" She said. Of course she'd call on him. He should have known - she knew he and Violet were the only halfway-decent readers, and even she had to see that Violet was upset. He stood, grasping his textbook in his arms.

"_My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun;  
>Coral is far more red than her lips' red;<br>If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;  
>If hairs be wires, then black wires grow on her head.<br>I have seen roses damasked, red and white,  
>But no such roses see I in her cheeks;<br>And in some perfumes is there more delight  
>Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.<br>I love to hear her speak, yet well I know  
>That music hath a far more pleasing sound.<br>I grant I never saw a goddess go;  
>My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground.<br>And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare  
>As any she belied with false compare<em>."

He slid back into his seat as the other students turned back to the front of the class. Violet gave him a quick smile before ducking her head back into her book.

"Very good, Tate, thank you. Now, can anyone tell me what this poem means? What in the world is Shakespeare talking about?" Mrs. Klein questioned. A hand rose on the other side of the class.

"Yes, Rachel?" The girl lowered her manicured hand.

"His mistress?" It was a question, and he heard Violet snort lowly, too quiet for anyone else to hear. It made him smile that she wasn't totally out of her element.

"Exactly. And what is he saying about his mistress? Anyone?" Nobody offered any more input.

"He's saying that, although she may not be as fair or light as a goddess, and though she doesn't have the most musical voice or the best-smelling breath, he still loves her as much as any of these things." She answered her own question.

"I want you to pair off into groups and examine how Shakespeare says these things, and come up with your own modern versions of this sonnet to turn in at the end of the hour." The students were pairing up and chattering away before Mrs. Klein was even done speaking.

The rest of class passed quickly, with Tate doing the work. He wrote the revamped sonnet pretty much all on his own, with the occasional input from Violet as she went back to reading her short story. He scrawled her name at the top anyway before he turned it in. He slid out of his seat for the second time to take the paper up to Mrs. Klein, who was silently grading papers at her desk.

Looking down to examine it one last time before turning it over, he was only half surprised to find that it almost perfectly described Violet. He glanced back at her; she was still hunched over at her desk, nose to her book. The girl described in the poem captured Violet's essence - not the bleach-blonde, tanned girls, she loved to read instead of getting her nails done, she listened to angry rock music instead of singing in the choir. It was all so perfect, he suddenly realized.

"Are you ready to turn that in, Tate?" Mrs. Klein shocked him out of his stupor. She was smiling up at him and had a weird look in his eye.

"Yeah." He told her, handing her the notebook paper before turning to return to his seat. Looking at the schedule when he got back to his seat, he started on the night's homework. He prayed they wouldn't have to rework Sonnet 18 too, as love sonnets made him rather nervous around Violet now. The bell rang as he finished reading the sonnet and he stuffed the book into his bag as he stood.

He was somewhat surprised when Violet continued on the way to Gym as usual. He was certain she'd want to skip for the day, if for nothing but the ability to avoid Brickerman. But then, he knew Violet wasn't that type of girl. She was tough, and of course she wouldn't be bothered by class with the asshole. She wouldn't be fazed past the initial irritation. She headed up the bleachers as normal without saying anything to him, though, and he wondered if she wasn't bothered by it more than she was letting on. Without a clue about how to help her, he went to change. The news of Violet slapping Brickerman must've wound its way through the student body, because it was the topic of gossip in the locker room, where he stripped and reclothed himself faster than ever, ducking back into the Gym before the urge to punch something became too overpowering. His wrists were still healing from the other week, and he didn't want them to tear open at school.

Class was much quieter than usual, and he realized that he hadn't heard Brickerman's voice in the locker room because he didn't seem to be speaking at all - he violently threw the football to his buddies, who were unusually quiet as well. He thought he saw them speak maybe once all hour, and they spent most of the period glaring across the room at Violet.

When the bell signaling the end of the day rang, he glanced at the door leading out to the track before turning his eyes to Violet. Her eyes found his and she smiled a reassuring little smile, nodding to the door to indicate he should head out. He frowned, as she usually came down to accompany him out, but he respected that she wanted some alone time and smiled back before heading out.

It felt weird, jogging out on the track while he knew that Violet was sitting inside, possibly crying - she was obviously upset. He'd never seen her show weakness, and part of him wondered what it would be like. The other part of him wanted no part of it, pointing out with vehemence that Violet should never be in any type of pain, physical or emotional. Rationally, he knew that he couldn't stop it, but he knew that he wanted to stop that from happening. He sighed and slowed down to a fast walk. It had only been a half hour of his usual hour, but he began to head back to the Gym anyway. He wouldn't feel any peace until he knew that she was okay.

He got the eerie feeling that something was wrong as soon as he pushed the door open and noted that she wasn't at the top of the bleachers where she'd been when he'd left. He cast a glance around the Gym before he heard shuffling coming from behind the closed door to the storage room to his left.

"Get off of me, you bastard!" It was clearly her voice, and he sprang into action. He hit the door at a run, knocking it into someone who'd been standing sentry on the other side. He could hear something crack as the guy hit the cement wall, and his furious gaze took in the scene before him. Gabe, one of Brickerman's cronies, was turning his surprised gaze on Tate, while Brickerman himself was sitting on top of a thrashing Violet.

Gabe had come running at him, and he slammed his fist squarely into the other boy's nose. He could feel the bone shatter under the force of impact, and if he weren't so angry he was almost seeing red, he'd have wondered why a football player wouldn't have blocked such an obvious offense. He stormed over to Brickerman, punching him in the face too, ignoring Gabe, who was rolling on the floor behind him, moaning in pain.

Brickerman rolled off of Violet with the force of the punch. She was disheveled, but quite clearly Brickerman and his fellow offenders hadn't gotten very far in their plans. The fact that she was largely okay should've soothed him, but instead the fact that she was disheveled at all enraged him further and he climbed over Brickerman, who was cussing and holding his nose. His fists flew at the boy in a blind rage. He would make sure that Brickerman got the point, and nobody attacked Violet like this again.

It seemed like seconds before Violet's voice penetrated the haze of his anger, repeating his name. He followed it like a beacon, his fists slowing as his rage dissolved away. Brickerman's face was a mess, blood streaming out of his nose and mouth. It had obviously been a few minutes at the least, though Brickerman was still fully conscious. Tate shifted back off of the quarterback, standing and turning to Violet, who was pressed against a wall, watching him warily. He frowned - he hadn't meant to scare her. He noticed the blood on his hands and the other boys, one of whom was being woken by the other - Tate assumed that he'd been knocked unconscious by his skull slamming into the cement wall.

"Come on, Violet." He said. She reached down to grab her discarded backpack and scurried past him to the door. He looked down onto Brickerman, who was wiping his lips on his sleeve.

"Leave her alone, or I won't stop next time." He threatened before following her out. She followed him, silently, into the boys' locker room, where he stuck his hands into the sink to wash the blood off. Constance definitely didn't need to know that he'd gotten into a fight, let alone that it had been over Violet. She'd probably blame the girl for the boys' attentions. He noticed that one of the scabs on his wrist had torn open, but it was only a dull ache compared to his receding rage. He got a band aid from the First Aid kit under the sink and slapped it on over the cut before he grabbed his clothes from his locker and took them to a stall to change.

Violet didn't say a word on the car ride to her house. He noticed that there weren't any lights on, even in the middle of the day, and he remembered her telling him happily yesterday that her parents were going to visit with her aunt or someone a couple of hours away, and they were staying for a few days.

'_How fucking convenient_,' he thought as he turned the car off and accompanied her inside and up to her room. The house was silent, as though the supposed 'ghosts' were awaiting some storm. She threw her bag, surprisingly violently, against her desk, which shook with the impact. He didn't know how to ask if she was going to be alright - it just seemed like such a stupid question, of course she wouldn't.

Suddenly, her lips were on his. But they were trembling instead of steady, hard and forceful rather than warm and pliant. Not the stuff of his dreams, in any case. He grasped her shoulders lightly and pushed her back slowly as not to hurt her feelings. She didn't need any more pain right now; didn't deserve any.

"Violet, what are you doing?" His voice was much softer than he'd expected it would be, considering the fact that he was still boiling with rage. She was staring down at his chest, and he couldn't see her face through her hair. He could, however, feel her shoulders shaking under his fingers, and he heard it when she started to sniffle.

He stared in disbelief. Was she crying? He forced himself to not pull his hands away like he'd been burnt. She couldn't be crying right now. He didn't know how to handle her crying.

"You're the only one who doesn't just want to take advantage of me; you don't even _like_ me. Why can't you just get it over with?" She said cryptically, squeezing the words out between shaky breaths that she couldn't control as tears pooled in her eyes.

"Violet, you're talking nonsense. Of course I like you. You just need some time to calm down." He told her, pushing her back towards her bed. She allowed him to seat her on it, looking up at him with wide eyes.

"If you do like me, then why can't you let me get it over with? Virginity is shit, and it always hurts anyway, so why can't you let me lose it with someone who actually cares whether I hurt or not?" She questioned, blinking hard as the tears began to leak out of her eyes. He stared as he realized what was happening - Violet was asking him to have sex with her, to take her virginity.

He could see it, and he'd be lying to himself if he tried to say otherwise. Hell, he'd dreamt about it tons of times now. Violet didn't need to hear that though, and he couldn't do that to her while she was in this state - she didn't even know what she was offering him. He sighed at her, pulling back the covers and pressing her down so that he could lift them over her.

"Violet, listen to me." She looked up at him, wiping the tears away. "I couldn't take advantage of you like that, Vi. You need to rest, not give away your virginity. Get some sleep. Everything's gonna be alright, okay? I'll leave you my phone number, and I want you to call if you need anything when you wake up, okay?" She nodded at him, and he took a second to appreciate how small she looked, swathed in her blankets. He smiled lightly at her and walked over to her desk and grabbed a pen, scratching his phone number onto the notepad there.

He gave her one last look before leaving, shutting the door quietly behind him. Her housekeeper appeared at the end of the hall, but he was too emotionally exhausted to think about asking if she was his dad's mystery mistress. He cared more about Violet than about that right now. He thumped down the stairs and out the door to his car, starting it up with a growl.

He stormed up the stairs to his own room when he got home, slamming and locking the door before retrieving his cd player from his backpack and blasting Nirvana to escape as he lay on his bed, desperately trying to forget the day.

AN: Aww, Tate. He's so protective. Also, threatening. And did I mention confused teenage boy? Because he is one. Sorry for those of you who feel awkward about the whole almost-rape scene thing. But it needed to happen to shock them out of the friend zone. After Violet's perspective, things'll be much more upbeat, I swear. Review, and tell me what you think!


	8. Savior

AN: So here we get an insight into why Violet did some of the things she did last chapter. I mean really, what is going on with this girl?

I'll put those little squiggly 's' things in front of and behind the almost-rape again this chapter.

It's a couple hours late to be your Valentine's Day present, but I'm gonna say it is anyway. Now wish me luck on my English essay. :)

Disclaimer: I do not own AHS, 'Black Star' by Avril Lavigne, or 'Savior' from Skillet. I was stuck between 'Savior' and 'Hero'(also from Skillet), so if you check out the songs I put on here, you should look at that one too.

**Violet POV**

In the weeks following their day skipping school, Violet changed.

It was nothing important, of course, and there were no big changes - she wasn't about to change who she was for anyone, even Tate. She didn't even know if he liked her, and that wasn't worth being someone she wasn't. She only altered her clothing a little, and got a little more flirtatious.

She asked her mom the next day what sort of things boys liked. She hadn't been surprised to hear that they liked to be in charge and they liked to feel like a girl was dependent on them. She had been surprised, however, to learn that her mom paid more attention than it seemed sometimes. Her mother had, quite astutely, guessed that she was asking because she was interested in Tate. She told Violet that she'd noticed him staying after for their project - and thankfully hadn't told dad - and that she'd talked to Moira about him. Moira had apparently given her seal of approval, because Vivien had decided he was an acceptable boy.

They had gone shopping in normal department stores for the first time together that weekend. They went to the closest mall in the busy part of LA. It was packed with people, and almost three times the size of the Ridgeway mall. Violet liked Ridgeway better, but kept her mouth tightly shut on the subject. Her mother took her into some department stores and some popular teen stores before allowing them to go to stores that were more up Violet's normal alley. The one thing that was better about the LA mall? It had a shit-ton of stores for Violet - almost more than she knew what to do with.

They spent almost half of the day at the mall, with Violet trying on dress after shirt after 'cute' pair of pants. When they finally made it home as the sun was setting, they had to make three trips up to her room for all of the bags. They sorted the stuff into piles of foldables and things to hang before Violet set herself to the task of sorting seasonal clothes. It was sort of a moot point now that they lived in California; she could wear almost anything whenever she wanted, no matter the season. A tank top, sundress, and a sweater could all fit into the same week, so long as wind allowed. She sorted them anyway, if for nothing but the comfort of routine.

She had a lot of dresses, she realized. They were all a little shorter than she was used to, but that might've just been because they were actually the right size - she didn't think any of them were a single inch too big. Her mom sorted the folded clothes by length and type - skirts that were long or short, capris, pants, shorts; the list went on. It was eight o'clock before they left the room for dinner, which they'd ordered from the Chinese place in town.

All of that work was seemingly for nothing, which just reaffirmed to Violet that she hated shopping. Tate never looked twice at her, and she realized a few days later that it was stupid of her to think that Tate cared about clothing - he was more likely to notice her if she got 'Nirvana' tattooed across her forehead. She told her mother that she thought she caught him staring a few times though to make her feel better.

It was a Tuesday in December when she woke up with the experience of Tate asking her out fresh in her mind from her dream. She opened a window to see if today was chilly, and left it open when she found that it was a typical warm day. She pulled a pair of black tights on before throwing a red dress over them. She ruffled through the collection of cardigans before deciding on a brown one that wasn't nearly as long as she liked her cardigans to be - it barely reached her hips. She threw on her Converses as she looked at the clock, noticing that Tate would be pulling up in a minute. She swung her backpack on as she booked it down the stairs quietly - her parents were always sleeping when she left for school in the morning.

The blob of Tate she could see through the windshield looked a little funny, and she realized why when she settled into the passenger seat. She snorted and he gave her a look, which only made him look funnier.

"You look like a drowned rat." She informed him. Tendrils of blonde hair were stuck to his forehead in a way that was a little cute but mostly just looked odd. She always showered at night specifically to avoid wet morning hair. He checked his reflection in the rearview mirror and rolled his eyes at her obvious amusement before running his fingers through his hair, pulling it away from his head.

"I had to take a quick shower. Sue me." He told her as he backed into the road. She smiled and turned up the radio as she realized it was a song she liked. She hummed along to the last couple of verses and turned the volume back down when the station went to commercial. She knew all the words to the song, but there was no way in hell she was displaying her vocal chords with Tate in the same room, let alone the same car. He was pulling into the parking lot when she remembered her schedule for the day.

"I have a History test today. Blegh." It wasn't like the test was going to be difficult or anything - the thought of Henderson giving a difficult test was amusing on some level. What bothered her was that she could never take a quiz or test in peace in that room. All the hissing of whispered answers and the notes being slid across tables was kind of distracting, though she realized very quickly after her first day that he was one of those teachers who held popular kids on a pedestal. She assumed he never was one in high school, so she tried to put it to the back of her mind.

"Sucks." Tate smiled a little at her as he swerved to avoid another car that was halfway parked. She pressed her hands to the dashboard to keep herself from slamming forward as he slammed to a stop in his own parking spot. He smiled widely at her and turned the car off as she rolled her eyes and unhooked her seatbelt.

They'd sort of gotten into a habit of her teasing him about his horrible driving. She would tell him that he needed to go back to Drivers Ed. and his driving would only get worse. One day, he'd refused to stop at a single stop sign on the way home from school. Luckily, they hadn't come across any other traffic on the short trip.

"Really, Tate. I'm serious. I'll front you the money if that's the problem. Because I swear to God, I fear for my life every time I get into your car. The entire drive, I'm sitting there praying: 'Please let me make it home in one piece'." She teased as they walked up the steps into the school. He smiled, rolling his eyes at her.

He dropped her off at Math without incident before heading back downstairs for his own History class. She watched him go before entering the rowdy classroom, resigning herself to another hour of mindless chatter and wondering why she'd been banished from her life and friends in Boston to go to school at Westfield, where there was only one other decent person. She sometimes wondered if Tate even thought she was a decent person, but she told herself that he wouldn't hang out with her if he didn't like her a little bit, even though she didn't really believe it. Maybe one day she'd make herself believe it.

Math was boring and she shoved her things in her bag, taking her time to try to avoid Becky and her groupie bitches in the hallway. They never attacked her in plain sight of the teachers, they normally caught her in the stairwell. Since she could only delay for so long though, it didn't work.

"What the hell do you think you're doing, you little slut?" She was slammed into the side of a locker as soon as she exited the stairs. A couple other students looked at them, but as usual, nobody offered to help. Becky was towering over her in a pair of sky-high heels that were completely inadequate for school. Her mini skirt was so little, Violet was surprised she'd bothered to wear it at all.

"I told you to back off. Tate Langdon is mine, no matter how many little dresses you wear, or how much you hang all over him." The girl raged at her. Violet thought it was ironic that the slut was lecturing her on small clothing, but she didn't dare say anything - she just wanted to get to class. Her eyebrows knotted together at the mention of hanging on Tate. She'd barely ever touched him in the few months that they'd known each other. Becky had to be the craziest psycho she'd ever met.

"I'm not-" she started to say, but was promptly cut off. She considered it a good thing, because saying that she wasn't trying to get Tate to like her was a lie anyway - Becky had just known it longer.

"If you don't back off, I can have every person at this school make the next year and a half hell for you. So watch it, slut." Becky threatened before moving away. Violet didn't have time to wonder what she meant if she wanted to be on time for History. She sprinted down the hall and made it to the classroom just as the bell rang. Henderson glared at her - he liked people to be in their seats when the bell rang. She quickly made her way to her desk and retrieved her pencil for the test.

The cheating began before he'd even passed all the tests out. There was a boy in front of her who was lifting his sleeve to see the answers he'd written there, and the girl to her right was looking at a paper that rested on top of her bag. The boys behind her, as usual, were whispering possible answers to each other, which were rarely correct. She pushed her hair back and tried to focus on her own test.

She ended up having to go over it three times, fixing answers here and there that she knew were completely incorrect and likely came from the boys behind her practically whispering in her ear. She turned her test in a few minutes after they did. Being the last one working on the test, conversations burst out as soon as she stood to carry it up to the desk. They were every bit as trivial as the ones in Math, so she tried to tune them out as she turned the exam in and returned to her seat. She was leaning over to retrieve her English text from her backpack when it happened.

It was an odd sensation, made all the weirder by the fact that it had never happened to her before. Usually, the type of guys that liked her offered her a roofie or an upper to hit on her - they were too high to physically coordinate anything more. She hadn't been listening to the conversations, so she couldn't tell if it just seemed silent, or if that was really the case. A heat rose on her cheeks and she couldn't tell if it was from embarrassment or anger as she turned around to face the boy.

She was a little bit surprised to see that it was Brickerman, the guy who'd hit on her in Gym on her first day. He stuffed the offending hand into a pocket of his letterman's jacket, as though that made it cool or something.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" The room wasn't really that quiet, so she didn't worry about Henderson hearing them - he obviously wasn't going to do anything about the situation, anyway. What kind of teacher just sat there while one of his students was sexually harassed?

"You know exactly what I'm doing, sexy thing. How about you hop in my 'Vette after school and we can go somewhere to have _fun_." The emphasis, along with his voice, made her want to vomit. "Why settle for that freak Langdon when I'm right here? I'm all the man you'll ever need, baby." He intoned, stepping into her personal space. She looked up at him. So _this_ was what that bitch Crenshaw had meant? No way was she standing for this.

The smack of her hand hitting his face resounded in the room for a second as all other conversation stopped. It was dead silent for a beat as Violet huffed victoriously and the other students stared.

"Miss Harmon." She turned at Mr. Henderson's voice, which she was surprised to hear at all. He usually didn't care what the students did.

"This school does not condone violence - this is your first warning. If it happens again you will be sent to the office; if the problem persists you will be suspended. Now sit down and do try to keep your hands to yourself." She stared for a second, disbelieving. This had to be some sort of joke. When Henderson only went back to his work though, she knew he was serious and took her seat.

She sat there, bouncing her foot, until the bell rang. She grabbed her bag and pushed her way through the other students, breaking free of the stifling, confining classroom for the freedom that was melding into the crowd. She made it to the library faster than ever before - it barely took her a minute. She tried to be quiet as she forced the door open and stalked to the back. She could hear the soothing sounds of very muted Nirvana as she turned the corner, before Tate flicked off his portable cd player.

"Nice portable." She snapped at him as she dropped her bag heavily onto the table and threw herself into her usual chair with as much force as possible. She knew he didn't deserve her attitude, but she forced herself to not care for a minute, in need of taking it out on someone. She reached over and was digging through her bag for a cigarette before she even realized she needed one. She needed one more now than she ever had before.

"The hell happened to you?" He questioned as he pulled out his lighter and lit the end of small tube for her. She sucked in a puff far too quickly, and found herself coughing as a result. It was strangely calming, though, so she was a little thankful for her carelessness.

"Fucking jocks." She spat as she caught her breath, still absolutely livid. She took another drag, this time controlled, and held it in for a long time before letting it go. The nicotine soothed her nerves, and she rolled her eyes at his confused expression through the smoke she blew out.

"Brickerman and his damn groupies fucking hit on me after that test. He actually grabbed my ass. I slapped him so hard my hand _still _hurts, and you know what Henderson said? It was my 'first warning'. Nothing about me being sexually harassed or anything." She kicked at the table in her rage. It shook, but not nearly enough to satiate her. Her hand still stung, and for the first time ever, she wanted to cause serious harm to another person. She barely noticed that it took a few long seconds for Tate to reply.

"Dick. You want me to beat the shit out of him?" She blinked at the unexpected offer. She never really pictured Tate as the violence-toward-others type, and she still couldn't now. It was nice of him to offer, though. Maybe Addie had been right. The thought made her snort in amusement. She ran a hand through her hair to calm herself a little more and smiled at him across the table.

"Thanks, but no. I'm just pissed - I just needed to rant to someone. You don't need to get suspended or anything over a couple of assholes. I'm sure they'd just love that." She averted her eyes to the people eating on the grass outside as she remembered what Brickerman had said about Tate. This whole thing had happened because she was into Tate, and he didn't know about any of it. She took another puff off of her cigarette.

"Well hey, if you change your mind, don't forget: Hare doesn't go into the locker room with us." He offered, completely oblivious to her train of thought. She smiled at him again and flexed her hand, trying to get the sting to go away.

"Thanks, Tate." She told him. She could never be mad at him for being the reason all this happened. It wasn't his fault the rest of the kids here were bat-shit crazy. He nodded to the hand she was flexing.

"You should get some ice for that. It'll take the sting away." He told her. Sometimes, she couldn't help but wonder if Addie was actually right about him liking her. Most of the time, he was just friendly and nothing more, but occasionally he'd say or do something that she couldn't fit into the friendship idea, like caring if she was cold or in pain. She puffed out some smoke and he got up to prop open the window.

"Eh. It'll be fine, I just need to massage it a little." Just because she'd never been groped did not mean she'd never slapped anyone. She was fairly familiar with the sting that came afterwards.

"Massage it?" He questioned as he returned to his seat. She supposed it would be kind of weird if Tate was familiar with the sting of slapping someone.

"Stimulate the nerves in a different way, get them to calm down. Always works, better than ice if you ask me." She explained. The only reason it was better than ice in her opinion was because she hated ice. Ice was very cold, and she had a strong aversion to holding very cold things to parts of her warm body. By definition, they were cold, and it was not in any way pleasant. Tate nodded and gave a hum of acceptance.

Standing up, she crossed to the window. She swiped the still-glowing end of her finished cigarette over the wires of the screen before pushing it out the hole. She tried to see where it fell, but it was too closed to the building to see. She'd have to actually stick her head outside.

"I wonder if there's just this pile of cigarette butts accumulating down there. What do you think they'll think when they find it?" She smiled to herself at the random ponderings before turning around to retrieve the perfume her mom had gotten her. She sprayed herself before recapping the bottle and tossing it back in. Zipping up the bag, she noticed Tate glance at the clock before he unfolded himself once again from the chair, walking over to shut the window.

Violet couldn't help but stare at him sometimes. She thought it might have been the way he walked; whatever it was, it entranced her. He was tall, even though he was sort of perpetually hunched over, head ducked to hide his face behind his shaggy curly hair. He moved smoothly though, in a way that was like poetry in motion. Sort of elegant, without looking fancy or anything. His clothes were nothing more than modest - graphic tees or band t-shirts coupled with cardigans and jeans or cargo pants - but somehow his actual body seemed to radiate royalty in a way that captured her rapt attention.

She diverted her gaze as he turned back to her to get his backpack. She slung her own over her shoulder and didn't wait for him to follow, too embarrassed to look at him. She was sure she must have been blushing. The bell rang as they exited the library, and the hall was surprisingly empty. They made it to French far too quickly for her liking: she didn't want to swap his company for the glares she would get from Becky. He waved to her and disappeared into the stairwell anyway though, and she headed into her doom.

Her saving grace was that Monsieur Lindon, as he demanded they call him, was an overall fair teacher. He wasn't lenient and was sort of stuck up, but he was consistent about it. Violet doubted he even knew the social ladder of the students, let alone cared who was at the top of it. He wouldn't take any catty remarks in their French class, which was primarily girls.

The hour was slow, with them learning about grammar. Violet always had a little trouble with pronunciation, so she made sure that she paid extra attention to how he said the new vocabulary. It kept her mind off of the glares that Crenshaw was giving to her every few minutes. Apparently, she hadn't expected Violet to fight back when she'd set her boy toy on her in History. The blonde made a dig in the moments before the bell about girls who let anyone touch them, which reached all the way across the class to Violet. She acted like she hadn't heard and booked it out of the room as soon as the bell rang.

Wanting to be as far away from everyone - particularly Becky Crenshaw - she slipped into Tate's usual seat in the corner. She pulled out her textbook and flipped to one of the stories she'd bookmarked to read. She didn't want to talk, not even to Tate. He was quiet when he took the seat next to her, and she mentally thanked him for being the most observant guy she'd ever met or heard of. If any guy were to ever correctly guess what she wanted, it was Tate. The bell rang and she flipped to the sonnet that she'd read at least thirty times. Regardless, she forced herself to read through it again, trying to come up with alternate meanings for the lines. It was very possibly Shakespeare's most straightforward sonnet though, so she was happy when Mrs. Klein called on Tate to read it aloud.

Violet had seen Tate reading poetry very often - it felt like every other day - but she'd never heard him read it aloud. His voice wrapped around the words and seemingly effortlessly formed the meter, as though he'd been born to read poetry. The poem took on new meaning when Tate read it - she wondered if every girl in the room could feel like he was reading it directly to her, or if that was just Violet. She sort of hoped it was just her. He sat down and looked over at her when he finished, and she realized she'd been staring. She gave him a little smile before turning her eyes back to her textbook, highly aware of the prickling sensation of Crenshaw's gaze.

She heard someone question if the sonnet was about Shakespeare's mistress and she couldn't hold in the snort. That was just a bit ridiculous - of course it was. What the hell else could it be about; his dog? She rolled her eyes. Mrs. Klein told them to pair off and make a new version of the poem.

Tate pulled out a piece of paper and began scribbling down lines in his special brand of chicken scratch. All boys' handwriting was absolute shit, but she thought Tate's was kind of cute. His letters all started on the bottom line, which caused his o's to look like they had little x's at the bottom sometimes. She flipped back to the short story but didn't really read it, offering the occasional adjustment to the sonnet. The final product was pretty much all Tate's though, which was why it surprised her that he scrawled her name at the top below his own before getting up to turn it in.

Noting that Becky's attention was one her own sonnet, she freely watched Tate as he walked up to turn the paper in. He looked at it for a few long moments, and she wondered if he was going to change something. If he did, she wanted to know what - it hadn't escaped her that the sonnet more closely described herself than it did Crenshaw's type. She couldn't tell if that was what he liked, though, or if he just wanted to follow the idea of the original. She turned her eyes back to her story as he turned in the paper and came back to his seat. He started in on his homework, so she decided to force herself to actually read the text in front of her. If she liked it, she could finish it in Gym.

She was only a page and a half into the story when the bell rang, and she carried it to Gym with her. It was good so far, so she'd decided that she'd finish it. It would help to distract her from Brickerman, since she was sure he'd be as obnoxious as ever, if not more. It was only when the bell rang for the end of the day that she'd gotten through the story twice because Brickerman hadn't spoken at all. Her eyes lifted and quickly located Tate. She smiled at him - it seemed like he was always there to make her feel better. He had all day, anyway. She nodded to the door to tell him to go out to the track for practice. She wanted to finish the last couple pages before heading out. It would hurt if she took the book out to try to read in that bright sunlight. He smiled back at her and headed out.

When she was finally completely alone in the silence, she could feel the urge to cry well up in her, but she tamped it down. She wasn't going to cry over a brief molestation. Other girls would be happy to be in her shoes, it really wasn't that bad. She forced herself back to the story. It took a little bit to finish, but she stuffed it in her bag and headed down the bleachers and across the Gym to the door confidently.

She never saw the arm coming. It hooked around her from behind, covering her mouth to muffle her shout of shock. She was dragged, thrashing, over to the storage room in the corner. It was dark in there, but she knew instinctively that there was more than one person in the room, and that they were all larger than her.

"Get the lights." A male voice said. She squinted in the dark; she knew that voice. The lights came on as the door shut. Once she blinked away the temporary blindness, her fears were confirmed: Brickerman was standing almost on top of her, a wicked glint in his eye. She knew as soon as she saw him that this was serious - his two lackeys were standing back, one of them guarding the door.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" She questioned, trying to edge her way backwards. She could see her backpack lying near her and wondered when she'd lost it. She desperately wished she had some kind of weapon - she really did not like this.

"Girls don't tell me off, Harmon, and they definitely don't humiliate me in front of everyone. Especially girls like you." Brickerman replied. The tone of his voice put her on full alert - this wasn't some stunt planned by Crenshaw, even she wouldn't go this far. Brickerman stepped forward suddenly, his big hand circling her arm and yanking her to him. She tried to pull away.

"Let go of me." She said, furious with herself for the tinge of desperation she heard in her voice. This wasn't right; this situation was all wrong. Was this seriously happening? He pushed her backwards with sudden force and her back hit the mats there heavily. She felt a surge in her as he crawled on top of her. She was not going to be a victim to anything, and definitely not to a guy like Brickerman.

"Get off of me, you bastard!" She spit at him as she slapped a hand away from her shoulder and started kicking.

In what felt like the span of a couple seconds, the whole atmosphere of the room was flip-flopped. It made Violet feel a little dizzy, but that could've been the fact that someone had just tried to rape her. She heard the crack of one of the guys hitting the cement, and a blonde blur slammed a fist into the other guy's nose before ripping Brickerman off of her with another well aimed punch.

'_Tate_,' was the only thing her brain could process, even before it really hit her that Tate was the one who'd just stormed in. By the time she processed the information, Brickerman was already being beaten down by him, and she didn't really understand the situation; everything was so confusing and she was getting a headache. She tried to call out to Tate to make him stop - the way he was going, Brickerman was going to end up in the hospital - but her voice was dry and cracked. She swallowed.

"Tate." Her voice was still too low for him to hear her, and his fists kept raining down on Brickerman.

"Tate!" She yelled, desperate for him to stop, and this time she could see the change. His shoulders loosened and his fists gradually slowed down and he eventually rolled off the jock and turned to face her. There was more anger in Tate's eyes than she'd ever seen in anyone; it was like looking at pure hatred. It scared her, but she could make the distinction that she wasn't afraid of Tate himself. So she listened to him when he told her to come on in the lowest, most terrifying voice she'd ever heard - she grabbed her backpack and scurried over to the door, where one of Brickerman's groupies was waking up the other.

"Leave her alone, or I won't stop next time." The threat sent chills up her spine, and she stared at him as he led the way to the boys' locker room. Not wanting to be alone again, she followed him in. She sat silently on a bench as he washed the blood off of his hands and changed back into his day clothes. He seemed much calmer on the ride to her house, and she only realized as he turned the car off that her parents weren't home. She was glad, because neither of them needed to know anything about this - nobody did.

She got angry as he accompanied her inside. Oh, it was all well and good to beat someone to a pulp over hurting her, but he didn't like her at all. Other guys were willing to _rape_ her, but Tate barely touched her. The most he did was offer her his jacket and light her cigarettes. She threw her bag against her desk and spun to look at him.

She couldn't help herself. She closed the distance between them and planted her lips on his. They were soft and warm under her own, and she could feel the layers of anger strip away until there was nothing left but pain. She felt raw, as if someone had scrubbed away all of her skin. It only hurt more when he grabbed her shoulders and slowly pushed her away. Of course he didn't want her, not even when she offered herself.

"Violet, what are you doing?" His voice was so soft, she couldn't bear to look him in the eye. She stared at his chest instead. He was being so nice, and she couldn't hold it in anymore. The first tear fell, and she couldn't stop the rest.

"You're the only one who doesn't just want to take advantage of me; you don't even _like_ me. Why can't you just get it over with?" She choked out. She knew she wasn't making any sense, but she couldn't really string together the whole thought.

"Violet, you're talking nonsense. Of course I like you. You just need some time to calm down." He pushed her gently down onto her bed. But that wasn't what she wanted to hear. If he liked her, then why wouldn't he do this for her?

"If you do like me, then why can't you let me get it over with? Virginity is shit, and it always hurts anyway, so why can't you let me lose it with someone who actually cares whether I hurt or not?" She tried to blink back the tears, but it wasn't really working. Her sight was all blurry. She could still make out the realization that dawned on his face though, as he realized what she was asking him to do. She was confused when he sighed and pulled the covers back, pushing her down to the mattress. People didn't usually cover up before sex, and she had to get undressed first.

"Violet, listen to me." She wiped her eyes, trying to focus on him better. "I couldn't take advantage of you like that, Vi. You need to rest, not give away your virginity. Get some sleep. Everything's gonna be alright, okay? I'll leave you my phone number, and I want you to call if you need anything when you wake up, okay?" She was still hurt, but she nodded to him anyway. He smiled at her, which made her minutely happier. That went away when he got up and wrote his number on her desk before giving her a last look and shutting the door behind him. She waited until she heard the door slam and his car start up before she let the tears start falling again.

She cried for what felt like hours, until she didn't have any more tears to cry. She continued to heave for a while after that, until her lungs and throat and eyes felt as raw as the rest of her. She was grateful rather than offended as she normally would be when she felt Moira's hand rubbing circles into her back. It reminded her of mom even though she'd never been comforted in that way. Eventually she got her breathing under control, but Moira continued to rub the circles into her through the blankets. The woman finally declared that she was going to go make some chicken noodle soup for her.

She returned a couple of minutes later with a steaming bowl of soup and forced Violet to sit up and eat. She felt too queasy to possibly eat, but after a couple bites she realized that she was ravenous, and she downed the bowl of soup in a minute as Moira took a seat beside her on the bed. Violet could feel the pounding of a headache, but she thanked Moira anyway and didn't send her off.

"He's very caring. Completely the opposite of his father." Moira said suddenly, and it took a while for Violet to realize she was talking about Tate. That only led to more questions though.

"How do you know Tate's dad? I thought he left with some maid years ago. Have you been working here that long?" She questioned. Moira looked sad.

"Just long enough. I'm the maid he left with." She didn't bother to sugar-coat it, for which Violet was grateful. She still valued truth and blatantness. There was never any use in beating around the bush.

"You? Well then, where is he? I mean, he couldn't be here or he'd run into Tate's mom." She was taking the whole thing pretty well, but she supposed that was because it wasn't her dad who'd cheated. This time.

"Oh no. He left me years ago for some pretty little blonde stripper in Washington. I thought we were going to be together forever - at least, that's what he told me. But a couple of years after we left here, he left me just like he came to me." She was surprised that she actually felt bad for Moira - she'd told herself many times that she'd never like someone who lured a married person away from their relationship.

"I was a stupid little slut though, and I deserved what I got. I should have known that if Constance couldn't keep him happy, I never would be able to." She said. She supposed that was why - Moira realized the reality of what she'd done. "I ruined someone's marriage on a whim. Trust me, you don't want to throw your virginity away on one." Moira said, and she realized why the housekeeper had told her this.

"Maybe it's a good thing Tate grew up without Hugo around - he grew up to be kind and considerate; nothing like his father." Moira told her. Violet couldn't help but stare. The woman smiled a sad smile at her, patting her hand and collecting the tray with the empty bowl. She went to the door.

"You get some rest, Violet. I'll be here, and you need your rest." She nodded to the woman, sinking down into the covers and into a deep, heavy sleep.

AN: Sorry again about the almost rape scene. It was pretty awkward for me to write, but it's a plot device. Whatcha think of Moira's story, guys? Whaddya think will happen with Tate and Violet? Can people just go back to being friends after one of them offers their virginity? We'll have to see in the next chapters! Reviews please!


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